for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge

This soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us. If one has the courage to ask her what she thinks, she is always saying the very opposite to what other people say.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

There is something about the present which we would not exchange, though we were offered a choice of all past ages to live in.

For women live much more in the past...they attach themselves to places.

I am tied down with single words. But you wander off; you slip away; you rise up higher, with words and words in phrases.

Sometimes I think heaven must be one continuous unexhausted reading.