So the days pass, and I ask myself whether one is not hypnotized, as a child by a silver globe, by life, and whether this is living.

Am I a weed, carried this way, that way, on a tide that comes twice a day without a meaning?

Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.

I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.

There is the strange power we have of changing facts by the force of the imagination.

To pursue truth with such astonishing lack of consideration for other people's feelings, to rend the thin veils of civilisation so wantonly, so brutally, was to her so horrible an outrage of human decency that, without replying, dazed and blinded, she bend her head as if to let her pelt f jagged hail, the drench of dirty water, bespatter her unrebuked.