This was fantastic, insane—contrary to the axioms of her existence.

There was something strange and extraordinary about her – something that was frightening and at the same time most exciting.

She thought of them, woolly, shapeless; savage, petulant, spoiled, the flatulent monotony of their sheltered lives snatched up without warning by an incomprehensible moment of terror and fear of bodily annihilation at the very hands which symbolised by ordinary the licensed tranquillity of their lives.

She'd never imagined it like this-when she thought of someone (a woman like herself)losing her mind, she'd imagined shrieks and wails, hallucinations; but at that moment it had seemed clear that there was another way, far quieter; a way that was numb and hopeless, flat, so much so that an emotion as strong as sorrow would have been a relief.

She was dead, but her very death heightened that word "supernatural"; it was what she, not being, was.

Her fluency was marvelous. She would say things at random, intricate, flamelike, or slide off into a parenthetical limbo peppered with fireworks — admirable linguistic feats which a practiced writer might struggle for hours to achieve.

She had to believe it; nothing else was bearable. Kaufman was looking at self-delusion in a character strong enough to elevate it to madness.

It was a bizarre happening, an unprecedented situation, a grotesque situation, an almost unbelievable mischance.

perhaps it took a stranger to make a woman like her speak her mind.

And then she began to think about Lady Glencora herself. What a strange, weird nature she was, — with her round blue eyes and wavy hair, looking sometimes like a child and sometimes almost like an old woman! And how she talked! What things she said, and what terrible forebodings she uttered of stranger things that she meant to say!

Her shame and fierceness were blended.

She could have had a life as potent and dangerous as literature itself.

Frightened by something in her own nature

She could have never believed in the morning that her colorless inner world would before night become as animated as water under a microscope.