I only want to write. And there's no college for that except life.
Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.
...I have noticed that when things happen in one's imaginings, they never happen in one's life, so I am curbing myself.
I wanted so terribly to be good to him.
Rose doesn’t like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.
I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No-a journal ought not to cheat.