Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

Peter would think her sentimental. So she was. For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying – what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt.

Jealousy ... survives every other passion of mankind.

I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.

Illness is a part of every human being's experience. It enhances our perceptions and reduces self-consciousness. It is the great confessional; things are said, truths are blurted out which health conceals.

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