To love makes one solitary.

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

old emotions like old families have intermarried and have many connections.

I am writing to a rhythm and not to a plot.

First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air.

I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens.

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