Everything Is Very Quiet, The Streets Are

Life Is A Succession Of Readjustments.

One Can Live In The Shadow Of An Idea Without Grasping It.

Mechanical Difficulties With Language Are The Outcome Of Internal Difficulties With Thought.

She Had One Of Those Charming Faces Which, According To The Angle From Which You See Them, Look Either Melancholy Or Impertinent. Her Eyes Were Grey; Her Trick Of Narrowing Them Made Her Seem To Reflect, The Greater Part Of The Time, In The Dusk Of Her Second Thoughts. With That Mood, That Touch Of Arriere Pensee, Went An Uncertain, Speaking Set Of Lips.

In 'real Life' Everything Is Diluted; In The Novel Everything Is Condensed.