Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. It's certain. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. "They're about to murder your child —your child, I tell you! Do you comprehend what I say, Joan?" "I've hurt my head," replied Mrs. 8.
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