[…] nobody grows up. Everyone carries around all the selves that they have ever been, intact, waiting to be reactivated in moments of pain, of fear, of danger. Everything is retrievable, every shock, every hurt....

[…] no man is free of his own history.

And without understanding, could each properly love the other?

As a devil’s advocate Mr Neville was faultless. And yet, she knew, there was a flaw in his reasoning, just as there was a flaw in his ability to feel.

Old times, sad times. I feel better about them now than I did then.

[…] death is only a small interruption.

I suppose what one wants really is ideal company and books are ideal company.

Literature for me was a magnificent destiny for which I was not yet fully prepared. 76

Dr Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature

That sun, that light had faded, and she had faded with them. Now she was as grey as the season itself.