A deep distress hath humanised my soul.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused$$$ whose dwelling is the light of setting suns$$$ and the round ocean$$$ and the living air$$$ and the blue sky$$$ and in the mind of man...

So that is marriage$$$ Lily thought$$$ a man and a woman looking at a girl throwing a ball.

Green in nature is one thing$$$ green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.

And yet$$$ the only exciting life is the imaginary one.

Still$$$ the sun was hot. Still$$$ one got over things. Still$$$ life had a way of adding day to day

One wanted$$$ she thought$$$ dipping her brush deliberately$$$ to be on a level with ordinary experience$$$ to feel simply that's a chair$$$ that's a table$$$ and yet at the same time$$$ It's a miracle$$$ it's an ecstasy.

Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo$$$ a semitransparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.

Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

...who shall measure the heat and violence of a poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?