Her Contempt For Me Was So Strong,

... As To Sleep, You Know, I Never Sleep Now. I Might Be A Watchman, Except That I Don't Get Any Pay, And He's Got Nothing On His Mind.

He Went To Church, And Walked About The Streets, And Watched The People Hurrying To And Fro, And Patted Children On The Head, And Questioned Beggars, And Looked Down Into The Kitchens Of Houses, And Up To The Windows; And Found That Everything Could Yield Him Pleasure. He Had Never Dreamed That Any Walk — That Anything — Could Give Him So Much Happiness.

Although I Am An Old Man, Night Is Generally My Time For Walking.

... Arthur Gride, Whose Bleared Eyes Gloated Only Over The Outward Beauties, And Were Blind To The Spirit Which Reigned Within, Evinced - A Fantastic Kind Of Warmth Certainly, But Not Exactly That Kind Of Warmth Of Feeling Which The Contemplation Of Virtue Usually Inspires.

There Is A Drowsy State, Between Sleeping And Waking, When You Dream More In Five Minutes With Your Eyes Half Open, And Yourself Half Conscious Of Everything That Is Passing Around You, Than You Would In Five Nights With Your Eyes Fast Closed, And Your Senses Wrapt In Perfect Unconsciousness. At Such Time, A Mortal Knows Just Enough Of What His Mind Is Doing, To Form Some Glimmering Conception Of Its Mighty Powers, Its Bounding From Earth And Spurning Time And Space, When Freed From The Restraint Of Its Corporeal Associate.