The whole world shall be ours because of our love.

Why it should be such an effort to write to the people one loves I can't imagine. It's none at all to write to those who don't really count.

In the woods where snow is thick, bars of sunlight lay like pale fire.

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

Can one do nothing for the dead? And for a long time the answer had been - Nothing!

Do you remember your childhood? I am always coming across these marvelous accounts by writers who declare that they remember 'everything.' I certainly don't. The dark stretches, the blanks, are much bigger than the bright glimpses. I seem to have spent most of my time like a plant in a cupboard.

To work - to work! It is such infinite delight to know that we still have the best things to do.