There is no harvest for the heart alone. The seed of love must be eternally re-sown.

It is not restful, it is not possible to talk wholeheartedly to more than one person at a time. You can't really talk with a person unless you surrender to them, for the moment (all other talk is futile). You can't surrender to more than one person a moment.

One must go through periods of numbness that are harder to bear than grief.

What release to write so that one forgets oneself, forgets one's companion, forgets where one is or what one is going to do next to be drenched in sleep or in the sea. Pencils and pads and curling blue sheets alive with letters heap up on the desk.

Yesterday I sat in a field of violets for a long time perfectly still, until I really sank into it - into the rhythm of the place, I mean - then when I got up to go home I couldn't walk quickly or evenly because I was still in time with the field.

I do not like talking casually to people - it does not interest me - and most of them are unwilling to talk at all seriously.

I believe that what woman resents is not so much giving herself in pieces as giving herself purposelessly.