But how describe the world seen without a self?
How explain to him that she, who had been lapped like a lily in folds of paduasoy, had hacked heads off, and lain with loose women among treasure sacks in the holds of pirate ships?...
He- for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it- was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters.
To feel anything strongly was to create an abyss between oneself and others who feel strongly perhaps but differently.
Fear no more, says the heart...
The autumn trees, ravaged as they are, take on the flash of tattered flags kindling in the gloom of cool cathedral caves where gold letters on marble pages describe death in battle and how bones bleach and burn far away in Indian sands.
He's read nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing.
Month by month things are losing their hardness; even my body now lets the light through; my spine is soft like wax near the flame of the candle. I dream; I dream.
Books, she thought, grew of themselves.
Whatever may be their use in civilized societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action.
The soul must brave itself to endure.
And the widow bird, startled, flew away, describing wider and wider circles until it became (what she called her soul) remote as a crow which has been startled up into the air by a stone thrown at it.