You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
I had been alone more than I could have been had I gone by myself.
I sank back in the gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. The air of the bell jar wadded round me and I couldn't stir.
Go out and do something. It isnโt your room thatโs a prison, itโs yourself.
I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still
I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of sceneryโair, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.