I see nothing. We may sink and settle on the waves. The sea will drum in my ears. The white petals will be darkened with sea water. They will float for a moment and then sink. Rolling over the waves will shoulder me under. Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.

I often wish I'd got on better with your father,' he said.

She had read a wonderful play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell and she had felt that was true of life — one scratched on the wall.

The man who is aware of himself is henceforward independent; and he is never bored, and life is only too short, and he is steeped through and through with a profound yet temperate happiness.

Words belong to each other.

To be nothing - is that not, after all, the most satisfactory fact in the whole world?

There is no doubt in my mind, that I have found out how to begin (at 40) to say something in my own voice.