One could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low. Then one gave it up; then the idea sunk back again; then one became like most middle-aged people, cautious, furtive, with wrinkles between the eyes and a look of perpetual apprehension. For how could one express in words these emotions of the body? express that emptiness there? To the Lighthouse

Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room. Never Give In!

Books are the mirrors of the soul. Between the Acts

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Hamlet