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I resign, the evening seemed to say, as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded, pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops...more

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It was a desire, an echo, a sound; she could drape it in color, see it in form, hear it in music, but not in words; no, never in words. She sighed, te...more

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Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

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I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.

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By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

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Hail, happiness, then, and after happiness, hail not those dreams which bloat the sharp image as spotted mirrors do the face in a country-inn parlour;...more

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Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth. Roll up that tender air and the plant dies, the colour fades. The earth we walk on is a par...more

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He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

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I spent an hour looking at pots and carpets in the museums the other day, until the desire to describe them became like the desire for the lusts of th...more

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When the white arm rests upon the knee it is a triangle; now it is upright - a column; now a fountain, falling. It makes no sign, it does not beckon, ...more

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There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. ...more