p7
Perhaps I shall not have time to finish. ON the other hand prhaps I shall finish too soon. There I am back at my old aporetics. Is that the word? I don't know. It does not matter if I do not finish. But if I finish too soon? that does not matter either. For then I shall speak of things that remain in my possession, that is a thing I have always wanted to do.

p9
A bright light is not necessary, a taper is all one needs to live in strangeness, if it faithfully burns.

p10
A little darkness, in itself, at the time, is nothing. You think no more about it and you go on. But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, the suddenly bursts and drowns everything.

p22
I don't like those gull's eyes. They remind me of an old shipwreck, I forget which. I know it is a small thing. But I am easily frightened now. I know those little phrases that seem so innocuous and, once you let them in, pollute the whole of speech. Nothing is more real than nothing. They rise up out of the pit and know no rest until they drag you down into its dark. But I am on my guard now.

p50
But in the end she would have stopped, saying, I have done all I can do. But she would not have done all she could have done. But the moment comes when one desists, because it is the wisest thing to do, discouraged, but not to the extent of undoing all that has been done.

p57
There is naturally another possibility that does not escape me, though it would be a great disappointment to have it confined, and that is that I am dead already and that all continues more or less as when I was not.

p65
But what matter whether I was born or not, have lived or not, am dead or merely dying, I shall go on doing as I have always done not knowing what it is I do, nor who I am, nor where I am, nor if I am.

p96
But there is no guarantee things will be ever thus.

p115
For when one has within reach the one and only love requited of a life so monstrously prolonged, it is natural one should wish to profit by it, before it is too late, and refuse to be deterred by feelings of squeamishness excusable in the faint-hearted, but which true love disdains.

p132
But space hemmed him in on every side and held him in its toils, with the multitude of other faintly stirring, faintly struggling things, such as the children, the lodges, and the gates, and like a sweat of things the moments streamed away in a great chaotic conflux of oozings and torrents, and the trapped huddled things changed and died each one according to its solitude.