Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange.

She felt, with her hand on the nursery door, that community of feeling with other people which emotion gives as if the walls of partition had become so thin that practically (the feeling was one of relief and happiness) it was all one stream.

I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.

In marriage a little licence, a little independence there must be between people living together day in and day out in the same house.

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.

For pleasure has no relish unless we share it.

With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes -- one of the tragedies of married life.