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. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. “Oh, Lucy. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. You will find it somewhere in that book. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here.
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