All The Emotions Have Something In Common.

Lies Had Deserted Me, And I Felt As Lonely As Though They Had Been My Only Friends.

He Was Like A Child With Haemophilia: Every Contact Drew Blood.

When He Was Young, He Had Thought Love Had Something To Do With Understanding, But With Age He Knew That No Human Being Understood Another. Love Was The Wish To Understand, And Presently With Constant Failure The Wish Died, And Love Died Too Perhaps Or Changed Into This Painful Affection, Loyalty, Pity.

She Had Lost All Our Memories For Ever, And It Was As Though By Dying She Had Robbed Me Of Part Of Myself. I Was Losing My Individuality. It Was The First Stage Of My Own Death, The Memories Dropping Off Like Gangrened Limbs.

I Have Never Understood Why People Who Can Swallow The Enormous Improbability Of A Personal God Boggle At A Personal Devil.