The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.

Brooding, she changed the pool into the sea, and made the minnows into sharks and whales, and cast vast clouds over this tiny world by holding her hand against the sun, and so brought darkness and desolation, like God himself, to millions of ignorant and innocent creatures, and then took her hand away suddenly and let the sun stream down.

Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?

Women have burnt like beacons in all the works of all the poets from the beginning of time.

It was the intimacy, a sort of spiritual suppleness, when mind prints upon mind indelibly.

But when we sit together, close,’ said Bernard, ‘we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory.

You can't think how I depend on you, and when you're not there the colour goes out of my life.