Orlando naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel himself for ever and ever and ever alone.

My notion's to think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take care of themselves.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?

But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.

Tell me", he wanted to say, "everything in the whole world" - for he had the wildest, most absurd, extravagant ideas about poets and poetry - but how to speak to a man who does not see you? who sees ogres, satyrs, perhaps the depth of the sea instead?

The mind which is most capable of receiving impressions is very often the least capable of drawing conclusions.

The depths of the sea are only water after all.