Why have I so little control? It is the case of much waste and pain in my life.

The world was going on as usual. All the time she was writing the world had continued.

But I think I’m coloured by my own wishes, & experimental mood.

The waves broke and spread their waters swiftly over the shore. One after another they massed themselves and fell; the spray tossed itself back with the energy of their fall. The waves were steeped deep-blue save for a pattern of diamond-pointed light on their backs which rippled as the backs of great horses ripple with muscles as they move. The waves fell; withdrew and fell again, like the thud of a great beast stamping.

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.

My mind turned by anxiety, or other cause, from its scrutiny of blank paper, is like a lost child–wandering the house, sitting on the bottom step to cry.

The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity.