What does the brain matter compared with the heart?

I have made up thousands of stories; I have filled innumerable notebooks with phrases to be used when I have found the true story, the one story to which all these phrases refer. But I have never yet found the story. And I begin to ask, Are there stories?

And it was awfully strange, he thought, how she still had the power, as she came tinkling, rustling, still had the power as she came across the room, to make the moon, which he detested, rise at Bourton on the terrace in the summer sky.

Night had come—night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.

Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.

I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.

I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; “the things people don’t say.