"It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to things, inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt the became one; felt they knew one, in a sense were one; felt an irrational tenderness thus (she looked at that long steady light) as for oneself. [...] there curled up off the floor of the mind, rose from the lake of one's being, a mist, a bride to meet her lover."
— Aug 20, 2026 10:57AM
Add a comment