The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

I was in a queer mood, thinking myself very old: but now I am a woman again - as I always am when I write.

That great Cathedral space which was childhood.

We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.

First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air.