She might have been glad to confide all these things to someone. But how to speak about so elusive a malaise, one that keeps changing its shape like the clouds and its direction like the wind? She could find no words; and hence neither occasion nor courage came to hand.

It seemed to her that certain portions of the earth must produce happiness -- as thought it were a plant native only to those soils and doomed to languish else…

But even as they were brought closer together by the details of daily life, she was separated from him by a growing sense of inward detachment. Charles' conver…

And now she could not bring herself to believe that the uneventful life she was leading was the happiness of which she had dreamed.

You can't hear me. You can't hear me. You can't hear what I'm saying. You can't hear what I'm saying to you.

It lay buried here. It lay deep inside me. It's so deep I don't think that I can speak about it. It could take me all of my life, But it would only take a mome…

The burden of the incommunicable.