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.

I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.

She felt... how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach.

Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.

Use words that soak up life.

The immense success of our life is, I think, that our treasure is hid away; or rather in such common things that nothing can touch it.

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.