I want to be pure in heart -- but I like to wear my purple dress.

It's funny how you can be mad at someone one moment and want to hug them the next.

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?

People talk about love as if it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers.

If one talks to more than four people, it is an audience; and one cannot really think or exchange thoughts with an audience.

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

I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.