Max was discussing orgone boxes as though he had lived in one all of his life.

In thousands of rooms, as many men intently removed minuscule stubble from pallid chins

The city throbbed in gray effulgence, radiating motion

They talked now in tones which recognized those of the other, and treated with accordingly, desultory tones and cursory remarks which might come close upon but never touch the eventuality which both appeared to await.

It cheapens the whole . . . it’s a calumny, that’s what it is, on my work

his hands composed a shivering binnacle for what served, on this voyage, as a compass, a glass of whisky, perilously plumb between the gimbals of his fingers.

she had thought of the indelible year of her birth

in that penumbra of Science called chemistry

skipping across the edges of other sounds to attempt escape through the jalousies of the Venetian blinds

she entered to inhabit them a little while, until they became submerged, finding sanctuary in that part of herself which she looked upon distal and afraid, a residence as separate and alien, real or unreal