The scolding voice is her own, so abrasive and quick, yet so powerless to move her.

It occurs to her that she should record this flash of insight in her journal - otherwise she is sure to forget, for she is someone who is always learning and forgetting and obliged to learn again.

Here's to another year and let's hope it's above ground.

A woman's life isn't worth a plateful of cabbage if she hasn't felt life stir under her heart. Taking a little one to nurse, watching him grow to manhood, that's what love is.

Bookish people, who are often maladroit people, persist in thinking they can master any subtlety so long as it's been shaped into acceptable expository prose.

I'm concerned about the unknowability of other people.

The scolding voice is her own, so abrasive and quick, yet so powerless to move her.