"'It will come, one day, that hour that will envelope you in a golden cloud where is no pain; where the soul has the enjoyment of its own weariness and, happy in a patient game with its own patience, is like the waves of a lake which, reflecting the colours of an evening sky on a quite summer's day, lap and lap against the bank and then are still again -without end, without aim, without satiation, without desire -all repose that rejoices in change, all ebbing back and flooding forward with the pulse beat of nature'. This is how all invalids feel and speak; but if they do attain to that hour there arrives, after brief enjoyment, boredom. This, however, is a thawning wind for the frozen will: it awaken, stirs itself, and again engenders wish upon wish. -To wish is a sign of recovery improvement."
"Under the skin the body is an over-heated factory
and outside,
the invalid shines,
glows...
from every burst pore."