How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?

And I want to be held down. I don't know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.

I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.

My life, the most truthful one, is unrecognizable, extremely interior, and there is no single word that gives it meaning.

Facts and particulars annoy me.

Even great men are only truly recognized and honored once they are dead. Why? Because those who praise them need to feel themselves somehow superior to the person praised, they need to feel they are making some concession.

I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort