And now more than anything I want beautiful prose. I relish it more and more exquisitely.

I see through most people; I'm hardly ever wrong. I see at once what they've got in them.

It rasped her, though, to have stirring about in her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul; never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred.

Why, he wondered, did people who had been asleep always want to make out that they were extremely wide-awake?

madam," the man cried, leaping to the ground, "you're hurt!" "I'm dead, sir!" she replied. A few minutes later, they became engaged.

It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple: one must be a woman manly, or a man womanly.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.