He looked very old. He looked, James thought, getting his head now against the Lighthouse, now against the waste of waters running away into the open, like some old stone lying on the sand; he looked as if he had become physically what was always at the back of both of their minds-that loneliness which was for both of them the truth about things.

... it's been a perpetual discovery, my life. A miracle.

It seemed to her such nonsense-inventing differences, when people, heaven knows, were different enough without that.

There are moments when one can neither think nor feel, she thought, and if one can neithre feel nor think, where's one?

Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth.

Somewhere, everywhere, now hidden, now apparent in what ever is written down, is the form of a human being. If we seek to know him, are we idly occupied?

Whatever may be their use in civilized societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action.