Go for a short walk in a soft rain - lovely - so many wild flowers startling me through the woods and a lawn sprinkled with dandelions, like a night with stars. And through it all the sound of soft rain like the sound of innumerable earthworms stirring in the ground.

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.

It is nice to think how one can be recklessly lost in a daisy!

The bearing, rearing, feeding and educating of children; the running of a house with its thousand details; human relationships with their myriad pulls - women's normal occupations in general run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life.

One learns first of all in beach living the art of shedding; how little one can get along with, not how much.

Frenchwomen just never look ungroomed, do they?

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.