I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful.

I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? - like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?

So that is marriage, Lily thought, a man and a woman looking at a girl throwing a ball

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that is must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.

She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea.

But what a little I can get down into my pen of what is so vivid to my eyes, and not only to my eyes; also to some nervous fibre, or fanlike membrane in my species.

Biography is to give a man some kind of shape after his death.