Who is not afraid of pure space - that breathtaking empty space of an open door?

Only when a tree has fallen can you take the measure of it. It is the same with a man.

One writes not to be read but to breathe...one writes to think, to pray, to analyze. One writes to clear one's mind, to dissipate one's fears, to face one's doubts, to look at one's mistakes--in order to retrieve them. One writes to capture and crystallize one's joy, but also to disperse one's gloom. Like prayer--you go to it in sorrow more than joy, for help, a road back to 'grace'.

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.

I believe that what woman resents is not so much giving herself in pieces as giving herself purposelessly.

By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.

The wave of the future is coming and there is no fighting it.