"It was at such moments that he was most attracted by her, when her charming, almost dainty little person was possessed by a gripping force, an ardent, uneasy, graceless love of human beauty. “I,” he thought, “am no beauty,” and he felt alone in his turn.

Mathieu got up and tiptoed out to see if the water was boiling, then returned and sat down again beside Ivich; he looked tenderly at that little sick, soiled body, still so fine in slumber; he realized that he loved Ivich, and was surprised. Love was not something to be felt, not a particular emotion, nor yet a particular shade of feeling, it was much more like a lowering curse on the horizon, a precursor of disaster."