How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.

The great thing to remember is we can do whatever we wish to do provided our wish is strong enough.

there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don't mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one's breathing.

September is different from all other months. It is more magical. I feel the strange chemical change in the earth which produces mushrooms is the cause, too, of the extra 'life' in the air - a resilience, a sparkle.

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

Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.

If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.