Better to write twaddle, anything, than nothing at all.

Life never become a habit to me. It's always a marvel.

What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise

You have never been curious about me; you never wanted to explore my soul.

Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.

I want, by understanding myself, to understand others.

Ach, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why can’t I talk to you in a big darkish room at late evening—where the light is green from the waving trees outside? I’d like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.