"My solitude is sublime; the roaring of the wind is my wife; and the stars through my window-panes, these beautiful particles, constantly fill up my heart. The mighty abstract idea of Beauty in all things, I have, stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness. I feel more and more, every day, as my imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone, but in a thousand worlds."
"Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really ever grasp at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory, that the realisation dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one’s surprise - in an entirely different world."