One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.

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

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

Does Nature supplement what man advanced? Or does she complete what he began?

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

For it is probable that when people talk aloud, the selves (of which there may be more than two thousand) are conscious of disserverment, and are trying to communicate but when communication is established there is nothing more to be said.

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.