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

I am poor - obscure - just eighteen years of age - with a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.

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

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

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

I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.