Why is life speeded up so? Why are things so terribly, unbearably precious that you can't enjoy them but can only wait breathless in dread of their going?

For sleep, one needs endless depths of blackness to sink into; daylight is too shallow, it will not cover one.

Geniuses were like storms or cyclones, pulling everything into their path, sticks and stones and dust.

Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.

I must try to be alone for part of each year...and part of each day...in order to keep my core, my center...Women must be still as the axis of a wheel in the midst of her activities. She must be the pioneer of achieving this stillness, not only for her own salvation, but for the salvation of family life, of society, perhaps even of our civilization.

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

It was a magic caused by the collision of modern methods and old ones; modern history and ancient; accessibility and isolation. And it was a magic which could only strike spark about that time. A few years earlier, from the point of view of aircraft alone, it would have been impossible to reach these places; a few later, and there will be no such isolation.