A pretty sight, a lady with a book.
We were going to the long field which today looked like an ocean, although I had never seen an ocean; the grass was moving in the breeze and the cloud shadows passed back and forth and the trees in the distance moved.
I shall weave a suit of leaves. At once. With acorns for buttons.
God! Whose hand was I holding?
in all the world there is not someone who does not believe something.
I very much dislike writing about myself or my work, and when pressed for autobiographical material can only give a bare chronological outline which contains no pertinent facts.