Listening (had there been any one to listen) from the upper rooms of the empty house only gigantic chaos streaked with lightning could have been heard tumbling and tossing, as the winds and waves disported themselves like the amorphous bulks of leviathans whose brows are pierced by no light of reason, and mounted one on top of another, and lunged and plunged in the darkness or the daylight (for night and day, month and year ran shapelessly together) in idiot games, until it seemed as if the universe were battling and tumbling, in brute confusion and wanton lust aimlessly by itself.

Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.

Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever.

Nothing is stronger than the position of the dead among the living.

Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.

But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.

Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, while underneath the sex is very opposite of what it is above.