I am poor - obscure - just eighteen years of age - with a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.

I must say, I hate money. But it's the lack of it I hate most.

I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.

Perhaps it does not matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must.

I love the evening star. Does that sound foolish? I used to go into the backyard, after sunset, and wait for it until it shone above the dark gum tree. I used to whisper 'There you are, my darling.' And just in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone. It seemed to understand this ... something which is like longing, and yet it is not longing. Or regret - it is more like regret.

Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change.

No, no the mind I love must still have wild places - a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown litde wood, the chance of a snake or two (real snakes), a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with those litde flowers planted by the wind.