Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.

But what is more to the point is my belief that the habit of writing thus for my own eye only is good practice. It loosens the ligaments. Never mind the misses and the stumbles.

When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.

I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.

Consolation for those moments when you can't tell whether you're the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.