She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.

The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.

I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.

Don't you loathe it when doctors use the word 'we' when it applies only and solely to yourself?

A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lillies of the swamp.

Imagination takes humility, love and great courage.

Sometimes this fellow's music was like little colored pieces of crystal candy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.