“We know one another. This is the present. There is no past and no future. Here I am washing my hands, and the cracked mirror shows me to myself, suspended as it were, in time; this is me, this moment will not pass. And then I open the door and go to the dining-room, where he is sitting waiting for me at a table, and I think how in that moment I have aged, and passed on, how I have advanced one step towards an unknown destiny.We smile, we choose our lunch, we speak of this and that, but - I say to myself-I am not she who left him five minutes ago. She has stayed behind. I am another woman, older, more mature…”

“Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you,You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my back, breast, hands, in return,I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,I am to see to it that I do not lose you.”

“We stand in silence for another moment and I realize how lucky I am to have someone I can be myself around in all my melancholy glory.”

“It was never a question of passing. It was a question of hiding. Behind Black and white perceptions of who we were -- who they thought we were. Tropics. Plantations. Calypso. Cricket. We were the people with the musical voices and the coronation mugs on our parlor tables. I would be whatever figurine these foreign imaginations cared for me to be. It would be so simple to let others fill in for me. So easy to startle them with a flash of anger when their visions got out of hand -- but never to sustain the anger for myself. It would be a life lived within myself. A life cut off. I know who I am but you will never know who I am. I may in fact lose touch with who I am.”

“There is someone I must say goodbye to. Oh, not you - we are sure to see each other again - but the Lily Bart you knew. I have kept her with me all this time, but now we are going to part, and I have brought her back to you - I am going to leave her here. When I go out presently she will not go with me. I shall like to think that she has stayed with you.”

“It occurs to me to devise mental tests on myself to see if I am who I think I am, but then I think, “I am who I think I am, or I probably am, and a test I conceive and answer about myself isn’t a way to test if I’m another person pretending to be me, because no matter how I answer I’ll answer like myself, thus falsely proving to myself that I am who I think I am.” No, what I need is for my clone to create and administer the test.”