I grow numb; I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?

I detest the masculine point of view. I am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. I think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore.

It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt they became one; felt they knew one, in a sense were one; felt an irrational tenderness thus (she looked at that long steady light) as for oneself.

How are we to account for the strange human craving for the pleasure of feeling afraid which is so much involved in our love of ghost stories?

The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded.

There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.

Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.