In certain favorable moods, memories -- what one has forgotten -- come to the top. Now if this is so, is it not possible -- I often wonder -- that things we have felt with great intensity have an existence independent of our minds; are in fact still in existence? And if so, will it not be possible, in time, that some device will be invented by which we can tap them?

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.

I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.

The spring without a leaf to toss, bare and bright like a virgin fierce in her chastity, scornful in her purity, was laid out on fields wide-eyed and watchful and entirely careless of what was done or thought by the beholders.

I feel certain that I'm going mad again, I feel we can't go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices

The immense success of our life is, I think, that our treasure is hid away; or rather in such common things that nothing can touch it.