That is the fearful part of having been near death. One knows how easy it is to die. The barriers that are up for everybody else are down for you, and you've only to slip through.

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.

To acknowledge the presence of fear is to give birth to failure.

Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change.

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.

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

I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.