Every time one leaves anywhere, something precious, which ought not to be killed, is left to die.

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.

I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.

I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.

I am a recluse at present & do nothing but write & read & read & write

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

I adore Life. What do all the fools matter and all the stupidity. They do matter but somehow for me they cannot touch the body of Life. Life is marvellous. I want to be deeply rooted in it - to live - to expand - to breathe in it - to rejoice - to share it. To give and to be asked for Love.