I feel there's a funny little hole in me that wasn't there before, like a splinter in your finger, but this is somewhere above my stomach.

There are as many ways to live as there are people.

All I ask of in the world is just one day after another with nothing planned.

Gone is gone. I never miss anything or anyone because it all becomes a lovely memory. I guard my memories and love them, but I don't get in them and lie down.

There is no sight so ugly as the human face in anger.

Harriet never minded admitting she didn't know something. So what, she thought, I could always learn.

She didn't care anymore... and she got no pleasure from the work she did, but she did it. Everything bored her. She found that when she didn't have a notebook it was hard for her to think. The thoughts came slowly, as though they had to squeeze through a tiny door to get to her, whereas when she wrote, they flowed out faster than she could put them down. She sat very stupidly with a blank mind until finall 'I feel different' came slowly to her mind. Yes, she thought, after a long pause. And then, after more time, 'Mean, I feel mean.