Most of a modest woman's life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.

We seem to be riding on the top of the highest mast of the tallest ship; and yet at the same time we know that nothing of this sort matters; love is not proved thus, nor great achievements completed thus; so that we sport with the moment and preen our feathers in it lightly.

If one could be friendly with women, what a pleasure - the relationship so secret and private compared with relations with men. Why not write about it truthfully?

Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity.

Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I must push my foot stealthily lest I should fall off the edge of the world into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to the body.

and even a tea party means apprehension, breakage