I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.

Letters are the real curse of my existence. I hate to write them: I have to. If I don't, there they are - the great guilty gates barring my way.

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

By health I mean the power to live a full, adult, living, breathing life in close contact with... the earth and the wonders thereof - the sea - the sun.

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

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

Outside the sky is light with stars