When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?

At 46 one must be a miser; only have time for essentials.

But what a little I can get down into my pen of what is so vivid to my eyes, and not only to my eyes; also to some nervous fibre, or fanlike membrane in my species.

Now, aged 50, I'm just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.

We [women] have borne and bred and washed and taught, perhaps to the age of six or seven years, the one thousand six hundred and twenty-three million human beings who are, according to statistics, at present in existence, and that ... takes time.

I grow numb; I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?

Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.