The things we felt most are hardest to put into words. Hate is always easier to speak of than love. How shall I make love go through the sieve of words and come out something besides a pulp?

New gods arise when they are needed.

Everything drops away, comes to be unimportant in the dark. It's like sleep almost. A freedom from self, from ugliness.

in mad people fear goes on constantly, night and day, wearing one ditch in the mind that all thoughts must travel in.

Lord make me satisfied with small things. Make me content to live on the outside of life. God make me love the rind!

You can't be a little bit saintly any more than you can be a little bit pregnant.

I am sick of war. Every woman of my generation is sick of war. Fifty years of war. Wars rumored, wars beginning, wars fought, wars ending, wars paid for, wars endured.