... I'd always rather be with people who loved me too little rather than with people who loved me too much.

I always felt that the great high privilege, relief and comfort of friendship was that one had to explain nothing.

The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.

Wind moving through grass so that the grass quivers. This moves me with an emotion I don't even understand.

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.

Why! Why! Why is the middle-class so stodgy - so utterly without a sense of humor?

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