But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.

Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.

The roar of the traffic, the passage of undifferentiated faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the features from faces. People might walk through me. And what is this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar - forest trees or the roar of wild beasts. Time has whizzed back an inch or two on its reel; our short progress has been cancelled. I think also that our bodies are in truth naked. We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.

When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.

The way to write well is to live intensely.

With my cheek leant upon the window pane I like to fancy that I am pressing as closely as can be upon the massy wall of time, which is forever lifting and pulling and letting fresh spaces of life in upon us. May it be mine to taste the moment before it has spread itself over the rest of the world! Let me taste the newest and the freshest.

Peace was the third emotion. Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotions made the ply of human life.