But what a little I can get down into my pen of what is so vivid to my eyes, and not only to my eyes; also to some nervous fibre, or fanlike membrane in my species.

I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.

Was there no safety? No learning by heart of the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life?--startling, unexpected, unknown?

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.

Sometimes I think heaven must be one continuous unexhausted reading.

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.