The Well of Loneliness

The world hid its head in the sands of convention, so that by seeing nothing it might avoid Truth.

What a terrible thing could be freedom. Trees were free when they were uprooted by the wind; ships were free when they were torn from their moorings; men were free when they were cast out of their homes—free to starve, free to perish of cold and hunger.

You're neither unnatural, nor abominable, nor mad; you're as much a part of what people call nature as anyone else; only you're unexplained as yet--you've not got your niche in creation. But some day that will come, and meanwhile don't shrink from yourself, but face yourself calmly and bravely. Have courage; do the best you can with your burden. But above all be honourable. Cling to your honour for the sake of those others who share the same burden. For their sakes show the world that people like you and they can be quite as selfless and fine as the rest of mankind. Let your life go to prove this--it would be a really great life-work, Stephen.

Do try to remember this: even the world's not so black as it is painted" -Valerie to Stephen (pg. 408)

For the sake of all the others who are like you, but less strong and less gifted perhaps, many of them, it's up to you to have the courage to make good.

If our love is a sin, then heaven must be full of such tender and selfless sinning as ours.

And so blinded was she by those gleams of glory which the stars fling into the eyes of young lovers, that she saw perfection where none existed..." p146

Life's not all beer and skittles

But now, here she was, very wishful to pray, while not knowing how to explain her dilemma: ‘I’m terribly unhappy, dear, unprobable God—’ would not be a very propitious beginning.

The eye of youth is very observant. Youth has its moments of keen intuition, even normal youth -- but the intuition of those who stand mi-way between the sexes is so ruthless, so poignant, so deadly, as to be in the nature of an added scourge...

Ugly, degrading, rather terrible half-truths... It is bad for the soul to know itself a coward, it is apt to take refuge in mere wordy violence... Their hearts ached while their lips formed recriminations. Their hearts burst into tears while their eyes remained dry and accusing, staring in hostility and anger... They could not forgive and they could not sleep, for neither could sleep without the other's forgiveness, and the hatred that leapt out at moments between them would be drowned in the tears that their hearts were shedding.

Stephen, why are you shivering?' 'I don't know, my darling.' 'Mary, why are you crying?' 'I don't know, Stephen.' p424

And her eyes filled with heavy, regretful tears, yet she did not quite know for what she was weeping. She only knew that some great sense of loss, some great sense of incompleteness possessed her, and she let the tears trickle down her face, wiping them off one by one with her finger.

she took what she gave and she gave what she took, yes, but sometimes she gave just a little bit more – and that little bit more is the whole art of teaching, the whole art of living, in fact, and Miss Puddleton knew it.

Outrageous...that wilfully selfish tyranny of silence evolved by a crafty old ostrich of a world for its own well-being and comfort.

In her they instinctively sensed an outlaw, and theirs was the task of policing nature.

The world hid its head in the sands of convention, so that seeing nothing it might avoid Truth. It said to itself: 'If seeing's believing, then I don't want to see -- if silence is golden, it is also, in this case, very expedient.

Since this is a hard and sad truth for the telling; those whom nature has sacrificed to her ends--her mysterious ends that often lie hidden--are sometimes endowed with a vast will to loving, with an endless capacity for suffering also, which must go hand in hand with their love." p 146

Give us also the right to our existence!

I want you to be wise for your own sake, Stephen, because at the best life requires great wisdom. I want you to learn to make friends of your books; someday you may need them, because – ’ He hesitated, ‘because you mayn’t find life at all easy, we none of us do, and books are good friends.

To her it seemed an inevitable thing as much a part of herself as her breathing; and yet it appeared transcendent of self, and she looked up and onwards towards her love--for the eyes of the young are drawn to the stars and the spirit of youth is seldom earth-bound." p146

this is only the beginning. Many die, many kill their bodies and souls, but they cannot kill the justice of God, even they cannot kill the eternal spirit. From their very degradation that spirit will rise up to demand of the world compassion and justice

But her eyes would look cold, though her voice might be gentle, and her hand when it fondled would be tentative, unwilling. The hand would be making an effort to fondle, and Stephen would be conscious of that effort. Then looking up at the calm, lovely face, Stephen would be filled with a sudden contrition, with a sudden deep sense of her own shortcomings; she would long to blurt all this out to her mother, yet would stand there tongue-tied, saying nothing at all.

But even as she struck the bonds seemed to tighten, with each fresh blow to bind more securely. Mary now clung with every fibre of her sorely distressed and outraged being; with every memory that Stephen stirred; with every passion that Stephen had fostered; with every instinct of loyalty that Stephen had aroused to do battle with Martin.

as things turned out her choice had been happy, for seldom had two people loved more than they did; they loved with an ardour undiminished by time; as they ripened, so their love ripened with them.

So now Stephen must actually learn at first hand hwo straight can run the path of true love, in direct contradiction to the time-honoured proverb. Must realize more clearly than ever, that love is only permissible to those who are cut in every respect to life's pattern.

Writing, it was like a heavenly balm, it was like the flowing out of deep waters, it was like the lifting of a load from the spirit; it brought with it a sense of relief, of assuagement. One could say things in writing without feeling self-conscious, without feeling shy and ashamed and foolish -- one could even write of the days of young Nelson, smiling a very little as one did so.

My dear, don't be foolish, there's nothing strange about you, someday you may meet a man you can love. And supposing you don't, well, what of it, Stephen? Marriage isn't the only career for a woman.

The eyes of the young are drawn to the stars, and the spirit of youth is seldom earth-bound.

Love is the sweetest monotony that was ever conceived of by the Creator.