We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe
that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie
asleep.

“There it was, all round them. It partook, she felt, carefully helping Mr. Banke…”

“For one day as I leant over a gate that led into a field, the rhythm stopped: t…”

“She was writing for everybody, for nobody, for our age, for her own...”

“Above all, you must illumine your own soul with its profundities and its shallo…”