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.

The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded.

But how entirely I live in my imagination; how completely depend upon spurts of thought, coming as I walk, as I sit; things churning up in my mind and so making a perpetual pageant, which is to be my happiness.

I was in a queer mood, thinking myself very old: but now I am a woman again - as I always am when I write.

It is impossible for human beings, constituted as they are, both to fight and to have ideals.

I am writing to a rhythm and not to a plot.

I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity.