The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.