But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence the least touch of truth rubs it off and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

All things on earth point home in old October sailors to sea travellers to walls and fences hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds the lover to the love he has forsaken.

No work or love will flourish out of guilt fear or hollowness of heart just as no valid plans for the future can be made by those who have no capacity for living now.

I've always thought of beauty therapy 'alternative' treatments and the like as the female equivalent of brothels - for essentially self-deceiving people who feel a bit hollow and have to pay to be touched.