He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.

Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.

. . . to walk alone in London is the greatest rest.

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

I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.

I am reading Henry James...and feel myself as one entombed in a block of smooth amber.

Truth had run through my fingers. Every drop had escaped.