What a crippling art writing is, no body to it, no craft, really. It's all in the mind and you never see it or feel it -- only sometimes hear it. It uses only such a small part of man. I wish I were a sculptor.

It isn't for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for that long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security.

... once you get beyond the crust of the first pang it is all the same and you can easily bear it. It is just the transition from painlessness to pain that is so terrible.

I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.

When the wedding march sounds the resolute approach, the clock no longer ticks, it tolls the hour. The figures in the aisle are no longer individuals, they symbolize the human race.

Failures aren't failures if you learn something from them.

After all, I don't see why I am always asking for private, individual, selfish miracles when every year there are miracles like white dogwood.