I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

I want to force myself again and again to leave the warmth and security of static situations and move into the world of growth and suffering where the real books are people's minds and souls.

All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.

I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.

A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.

The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end.

Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.