Woman can best refind herself by losing herself in some kind of creative activity of her own.
I find the weight of air/Almost too great to bear.
For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms.
There comes a moment when the things one has written, even a traveler's memories, stand up and demand a justification. They require an explanation. They query, 'Who am I? What is my name? Why am I here?
Communication with another person -- wasn't it the realest thing in life?
The nicest gifts are those left, nameless and quiet, unburdened with love, or vanity, or the desire for attention.