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

What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise

No, no the mind I love must still have wild places - a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown litde wood, the chance of a snake or two (real snakes), a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with those litde flowers planted by the wind.

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

It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves.

To be alive and to be a ‘writer’ is enough.

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