It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death.
Her anger was against herself, for her frivolity and her blindness.
I ceased some time ago to believe in goodness.
The painter and the writer are not just copyists or even illusionists, but through some deeper vision of their subject-matter may become privileged truth tellers.
There are indeed many places where I could start. I might start with Rachel’s tears, or Priscilla’s. There is much shedding of tears in this story. In a complex explanation any order may seem arbitrary. Where after all does anything begin? That three of the four starting points I have mentioned were causally independent of each other suggests speculations, doubtless of the most irrational kind, upon the mystery of human fate.
Anyway people never fall in love suddenly like that except in novels.
I have battered destructively and in vain upon the mystery of someone else’s life and must cease at last.
And he thought, I shall go on blindly and secretly jumbling all these things together and making no sense of them as long as I live. Maybe every human creature carries some such inescapable burden. That is being human. A very weird affair.
The apparent scene is slowly falling to pieces revealing the reality behind.
I’m totally unworthy of this love which you are offering to me.
In my experience a good row not only does not clear the air but can land you with a lifelong enemy.
The presence of so many things which ought to have delighted her and been her friends brought home to Moy how little delight she could now feel and how alienated she now was from all the beings to which she had once felt so close.
Of course, my dear, I cannot, how could I, altogether regret what has happened.
Clement held her hand for a moment; knowing that after that moment the darkness would begin.
You daren’t think, so you live in a dream.
Singing is of course a form of aggression.
Sudden things are prepared for.
Of course I love Arnold, but I can hate him too, and it can go along with love that one never forgives certain things.
Perhaps that was the only time which we should ever, ever have together. Perhaps it was something which would never, never, never come again.
Perhaps this ‘dead’ feeling was also brought on by an intensification of her old secret sorrow. Perhaps one day this sorrow might end. But she did not think it would end or see how it could end.