Every one fastens where there is gaine.
If you put a chain around the neck of a slave, the other end fastens itself around your own.
The iron bolt. . . mysteriously fastens the door of hope and holds our spirits in a gloomy prison.
Every pleasure or pain has a sort of rivet with which it fastens the soul to the body and pins it down and makes it corporeal, accepting as true whatever the body certifies.
The true self seeks release, not constraint. It doesnt want to be corseted in a sonnet or made to learn a system of musical notations. It wants liberation, which is why very often it fastens on the novel, for the novel seems spacious, undefined, free.