The beach is not the place to work; to read, write or think.

I feel I should not be ... so at the mercy of people's regard. And yet - it is the artist's desire for communication too; without the answering voice you get so numb; you lose faith in your powers to communicate.

These bright roofs, these steep towers, these jewel-lakes, these skeins of railroad line - all spoke to her and she answered. She was glad they were there. She belonged to them and they to her. . . . She had not lost it. She was touching it with her fingertips. This was flying: to go swiftly over the earth you loved, touching it lightly with your fingertips, holding the railroads lines in your hand to guide you, like a skein of wool in a spider-web game - like following Ariadne's thread through the Minotaur's maze, Where would it lead, where?

For it is not merely the trivial which clutters our lives but the important as well

Everything today has been heavy and brown. Bring me a Unicorn to ride about the town.

But I want first of all- in fact, as an end to these other desires- to be at peace with myself.

The most exhausting thing you can do is to be inauthentic.