Commonplace Book

 'But to this distinctive expression which his face had taken - stamped there by lonely contemplation, by unutterable longings, by helpless chafing, by many fits of mental agony, by hope fallen sick and spiritless, by such things which do really and truly of this life make a hell without participation of conscience, as there are sufferers to swear - was super-added at this time, as he walked through busy thoroughfares, a painful anxiety so acute as to fix upon his heart the shadow of physical torment.'

from Auld Lang Syne by W. Clark Russell (Volume II, Chapter XII)

Commonplace Book

 '...her eyes bulged like a pekinese dog's, but they were pretty nonetheless. They had in them what used to be called by my generation a sexy look, but this might have been caused by short sight or constipation.'

from Travels with My Aunt by Graham Greene (Chapter 11)

Commonplace Book

 'Night is the bitterest time for sorrow. Something there always is in the day ― in the activity of cloudy sunshine, or the waving of trees, or the going to and fro of men and women, and the sound of their voices ― to pluck grief as it were by the sleeve, and compel it from fixed contemplation. But the stillness of night gives subtlety to thought, and quickens the madness which despair truly is....'

from Auld Lang Syne by W. Clark Russell (Volume II, Chapter IV)

Commonplace Book

 '...A diaryㅡeven a cruelly honest diary一is a kind of home-made lover. In the pretender's diary, though he may not be justified, he is always forgiven; though he may not be admirable, he is always visible. His diary cedes to him the right to reign unchallenged in his corner. His corner has a sufficient population―a population of One. That One may be admittedly a poor thing, but at least it is undespised一a real thing, withdrawn from a crowd of ghosts. The ghosts that pass the diarist's corner cannot shake his courage; he looks at them, but they cannot look at him; he is revenged upon smilers behind the hand, upon the cruel queer crowds outside; his accusers are gagged at last.'

from Sitting in Corners, a piece in Worlds within Worlds by Stella Benson

Commonplace Book

 '...Was religion, she wondered, given to us that we might always carry grave faces, always be quoting Holy Writ, always rebuking mirth; that we should have no forgiveness for sin, and no mercy for error which is not sin, and no tenderness for the child that had stepped out of the hard dry road of life to pluck one of the few flowers that bloom on the way-side, but must not be gathered without our leave?..'

from Auld Lang Syne by W. Clark Russell (Volume II, Chapter III)