“The InfiniteIt was always dear to me, this solitary hill,and this hedgerow here, that closes out my view,from so much of the ultimate horizon.But sitting here, and watching here, in thought,I create interminable spaces,greater than human silences, and deepestquiet, where the heart barely fails to terrify.When I hear the wind, blowing among these leaves,I go on to compare that infinite silencewith this voice, and I remember the eternaland the dead seasons, and the living present,and its sound, so that in this immensitymy thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweetto me in this sea.”

“This solitary hill has always been dear to meAnd this hedge, which prevents me from seeing most ofThe endless horizon.But when I sit and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughtsEndless spaces beyond the hedge,An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet,To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed.And when I hear the wind rustling through the treesI compare its voice to the infinite silence.And eternity occurs to me, and all the ages past,And the present time, and its sound.Amidst this immensity my thought drowns:And to founder in this sea is sweet to me.”

“I don't remember why it all went so wrong. I mean, I do remember. I remember what i did. I just don't remember why anymore. This - you and me - this feels so right. It just seems stupid - so stupid - that we had it before, and we let it go. We wasted so much time. I'm sorry.' She was close to tears.'Hey. Don't. There's no point in that. It's the past, and that's where it belongs. This is us now. We're here.'But where's here? We're hiding out. We're playing house. This isn't real life.''It feels real to me.''But it isn't.”

“Now the night's breath responds to the sea, which I can scarcely hear from here, as it reminisces about its shipwrecks.”

“Back from where? you're not going out again and leaving me here are you?? Holy Hercules I sound like somebody's wife”

“How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.”