Theories then are dangerous things.

I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts.

With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes -- one of the tragedies of married life.

So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.

Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.

Life stand still here.

The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.