I have had my vision.

The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.

There is much to support the view that it is clothes that wear us, and not we, them; we may make them take the mould of arm or breast, but they mould our hearts, our brains, our tongues to their liking.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

I ransack public libraries & find them full of sunk treasure.

I like books whose virtue is all drawn together in a page or two. I like sentences that don't budge though armies cross them.

Disastrous would have been the result if a fire or a death had suddenly demanded something heroic of human nature, but tragedies come in the hungry hours.