I like going from one lighted room to another, such is my brain to me; lighted rooms.
Love and religion! thought Clarissa, going back into the drawing room, tingling all over. How detestable, how detestable they are!
There is no room for the impurities of literature in an essay.
Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
All artists need a room of their own