If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.

I like people to be unhappy because I like them to have souls.

I see nothing. We may sink and settle on the waves. The sea will drum in my ears. The white petals will be darkened with sea water. They will float for a moment and then sink. Rolling over the waves will shoulder me under. Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

A thousand things to be written had I time: had I power. A very little writing uses up my capacity for writing.

I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? - like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?

Night had come—night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.