Books everywhere. On the shelves and on the small space above the rows of books and all along the floor and under chairs, books that I have read, books that I have not read.

never forget this moment, the hum of the bee, the saffron threads of the flower, the drawn blinds, nature's assiduousness and human cruelty.

jealousy is the direct result of self-betrayal.

Oh, love, what an unreasoning creature it grew to be.

We hide the truer part of ourselves when we love.

All my life I had feared imprisonment, the nun's cell, the hospital bed, the places where one faced the self without distraction, without the crutches of other people.

Recollection is not something that I can summon up, it simply comes and I am the servant of it.