I am poor - obscure - just eighteen years of age - with a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.
The mind I love must have wild places.
I want, by understanding myself, to understand others.
Children are unaccountable little creatures.
Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.
September is different from all other months. It is more magical. I feel the strange chemical change in the earth which produces mushrooms is the cause, too, of the extra 'life' in the air - a resilience, a sparkle.