For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.

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

Words belong to each other.

As an experience, madness is terrific ... and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about.

Safe! safe! safe!' the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry 'Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.

Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you

Communication is truth; communication is happiness. To share is our duty; to go down boldly and bring to light those hidden thoughts which are the most diseased; to conceal nothing; to pretend nothing; if we are ignorant to say so; if we love our friends to let them know it.