But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.

Women have no wilderness in them
They are provident instead
Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts
To eat dusty bread.

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

Life and death occur, as they must, but they are all bound up with love and hatred, in the individual bosom, and it is a sin and a shame to try to organize or dictate them.

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.