scarcely a human being in the course of history has fallen to a woman's rifle; the vast majority of birds and beasts have been killed by you, not by us. Obviously there is for you some glory, some necessity, some satisfaction in fighting which we have never felt or enjoyed.

But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people.

Among the tortures and devestations of life is this then - our friends are not able to finish their stories.

The hatchet must fall on the block; the oak must be cleft to the centre. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Here is the pen and the paper; on the letters in the wire basket I sign my name, I, I, and again I.

If people are highly successful in their profession they lose their senses. Sight goes. They have no time to look at pictures. Sound goes. They have no time to listen to music. Speech goes. They have no time for conversation. They lose their sense of proportion.

But nevertheless, the fact remained, it was almost impossible to dislike anyone if one looked at them.

Life piles up so fast that I have no time to write out the equally fast rising mound of reflections.