The Defective Can Be More

Meanwhile, The Trees Were Just As Green As Before; The Birds Sang And The Sun Shone As Clearly Now As Ever. The Familiar Surroundings Had Not Darkened Because Of Her Grief, Nor Sickened Because Of Her Pain. She Might Have Seen That What Had Bowed Her Head So Profoundly -the Thought Of The World's Concern At Her Situation- Was Found On An Illusion. She Was Not An Existence, An Experience, A Passion, A Structure Of Sensations, To Anybody But Herself.

Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than Men.

That Mercy Towards One Set Of Creatures Was Cruelty Towards Another Sickened His Sense Of Harmony. As You Got Older, And Felt Yourself To Be At The Center Of Your Time, And Not At A Point In Its Circumference, As You Had Felt When You Were Little, You Were Seized With A Sort Of Shuddering, He Perceived. All Around You There Seemed To Be Something Glaring, Garish, Rattling, And The Noises And Glares Hit Upon The Little Cell Called Your Life, And Shook It, And Warped It.

We Colour And Mould According To The Wants Within Us Whatever Our Eyes Bring In.

It Was Still Early, And The Sun's Lower Limb Was Just Free Of The Hill, His Rays, Ungenial And Peering, Addressed The Eye Rather Than The Touch As Yet.