What did my arms do before they held you?

I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself "the girl who wanted to be God." Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.

I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for more.

What did my arms do before they held you?

I'm about fifty years behind as far as my preferences go and I must say that the poets who excite me most are the Americans. There are very few contemporary English poets that I admire.

I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.

I think writers are the most narcissistic people. Well, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.