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My published books may have been written not in order to remove images from my mind but to arrange them more appropriately and to give certain images their rightful prominence.

A drop of oil

Love, love, love,

Persophone and the Chariot

No, the narrative is a mysterious formation that developed I cannot say when i some or another far part of my mind. Because it developed thus and there, I accord it, rightly or wrongly, more respect than I could ever accord anything that I might have read in a book, and if ever I were able to arrange in order the items of that narrative, I would afterwords review them in my mind much more than I have reread the page

The Gift of Fire

It was always possible that our honesty would oblige us to undress or even to make free with one another's body, but I never supposed that anything we might do together would be done for any less serious purpose than to learn what it was that our parents and aunts and uncles seemed anxious that we should not learn.

For some days after that evening, Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent, formally, to exclude Hareton and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding so completely yo his feelings, chossing, rather, to absent himself- And eating once in twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him.

I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she left; Joseph held the door in his hand, when I called to ask after her, and wouldn't let me pass. He said Mrs Linton was thrang, and the master was not in. Zillah has told me something of the way they go on, otherwise I should hardly know who was dead, and who living.

Several years after I had seen the red-faced nun, and a hundred miles away from the provincial city where she had made fun of me in front of her decorous pupils, I would hve been reading, in the first of the serialised excerpts of Brat Farrar, some or another paragraph in which the narrator hinted yet again at the virtues of the character Aunt Bee I first gave to that character the nickname Aunt Beetroot.

We had sad wrok with little Cathy that day: she rose in high glee, eager to join her cousin; and such passionate tears and lamentations followed the news of his departure, that Edgar, himself, was obliged to sooth her, affirming he should come back soon; he added, however, 'if I can get him;' and there were no hopes of that.

The summer shone in full prime,; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that she often contirved to remain out from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful tales.

Another week over- and I am so many days nearer health, and spring! I have now heard all my neighbour's history, at different sittings, as the housekeeper could spare time from more important occupations. I'll continue it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is, on whole, a very fair narrator and I don't think I could improve her style.

Sometimes while meditating on these things in solitude, I've got up in a sudden terror and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the farm; I've persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people talked regarding his ways; and then I've recollected his confirmed bad habits, and, hopeless of benfeting him, have flinched from re-entering the dismal house doubting if I could bear to be taken at my word

A reader of this work of fiction may be wondering ehy I had to insinuate a version of myself into scenery of so many novels or short stories when I might have chosen from the male characters in each work a young man or a boy and might afterwards have felt as though I shared his fictional life.

Though I thus took part in the war as a matter of duty, it chanced that I was
not only unable directly to participate in it, but actually compelled to offer
what may be called miniature Satyagraha even at that critical juncture.

The essential thing was to stay involved. Little by little , Quinn began to feel cut off from his original intentions, and he wondered now if he had not embarked on a meaningless project.

Empty wagons stirring up the silence of the streets. Disappearing down the dark road of the night. And sdadows. The echo of shadows.

Priam thought himself the most unfortunate of men for having kissed the hand of him who slew his son.

I was then a little more than seventeen....Right here should be the middle part of my book, but my inexperience has mafe me lag behind my pen, and I arrive almost at the end of my supply of paper, with the nest of the story to tell. Now thre us nothing for it but to pull it laong with great strides, chapter on chapter, with little correction, little reflection, everything cut short.

There are people whose tears do not flow immediately, nor ever. It is said that they suffer more than the others.

Many of these are enraved on my memory to this day: The Exodus from Egypt. The Collapse of the Walls of Jericho. The Battle of Thermopylae: dense forests of lances, javelins, spears, and helmets reflecting the falshing sunlight.

The first month and generally the beginning of my life in prison are vividly present now in my imagination. My subsequent prison years flirt through my memroy much more dimly. Some seem completely effaced, merged together, leaving a single overall impression: heavy, monotonous, stifling.

Even in my youth, I seem to have been seeking evidence that the mind is a place best viewed from borderlands.

This little bird has landed on my head, Valentina sighed. Lord, did I really hate her for so many years ?

I dissemble better than anyone else.

This paradox, if such it is, cane be otherwise expressed: anyone observing the true appearance of a coloured window is unable, for the time being, to observe through that window any more than a falsification of the so-called everyday world.

Irina recognized this ferocious look and understood before he did his sudden desire for her; she remembered how lovemaking with him was always best when she annoyed him first with some taunt or slight.

When I asked him as a boy of fourteen what the word God brought to his mind, he claimed to see an image of a church with its windows empty , and only its walls standing, like an illustration he had once seen of the ruins of Tintern Abbey in England.