I can't do with mountains at close quarters - they are always in the way, and they are so stupid, never moving and never doing anything but obtrude themselves.

And yet - and yet - one's kite will rise on the wind as far as ever one has string to let it go. It tugs and tugs and will go, and one is glad the further it goes, even if everybody else is nasty about it.

It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake.

Whatever men you take, keep the idea of man intact: let your soul wait whether your body does or not.

I cannot get any sense of an enemy - only of a disaster.

Once you abstract from this, once you generalize and postulate Universals, you have departed from the creative reality, and entered the realm of static fixity, mechanism, materialism.

A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.