Much sheer effort goes into avoiding the truth; left to itself, it sweeps in like the tide.

Pride is what you can afford or think you can afford.

Because clearly the most amazing thing had happened: by some chance - no, the lover does not believe in chance, but destiny - destiny had arranged it so that the man and woman who had made the original whole, then somehow divided and separated by an angry God, had met up again, and now must reform the rightful, righteous whole. At once!

I know truth is more like a mountain that has to be scaled. The peak of the mountain pierces the clouds and can only rarely be seen, and has never been reached. And what you see of it, moreover, depends upon the flank of the mountain you stand upon, and how exhausted getting even so far has made you. Virtue lies in looking upwards, toiling upwards, and sometimes joyously leaping from one precarious crag of fact and feeling to the next.

Only one thing registers on the subconscious mind: repetitive application - practice. What you practice is what you manifest.

I didn't even know I was a feminist until I read it on the back of one of my own books.

I am not cynical. I am just old. I know what is going to happen next.