I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.

I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.

But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday―at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere―the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.

I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.

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

I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.