I took the print of life not outwardly, but inwardly upon the raw, the white, the unprotected fibre. I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance, but no name.

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that…”

“Anyhow, she thought, they are aware of each other; they live in each other; wha…”

“But Time, unfortunately, though it makes animals and vegetables bloom and fade …”

“My belief is that if we live another century or so — I am talking of the common…”