I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

Antoine St. Exupery once mourned the loss of a man and the secret treasures that he held inside him. I loved Exupery; I will read him again, and he will talk to me, not being dead, or gone. Is that life after death — mind living on paper and flesh living in offspring? Maybe. I do not know.

At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.

What is so real as the cry of a child?

I love the people,' I said. 'I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.

I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.

It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world.