But what is more to the point is my belief that the habit of writing thus for my own eye only is good practice. It loosens the ligaments. Never mind the misses and the stumbles.

The mind must be allowed to settle undisturbed over the object in order to secrete the pearl.

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

One has to secrete a jelly in which to slip quotations down people's throats - and one always secretes too much jelly.

When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?

I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful.

Was there no safety? No learning by heart of the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life?--startling, unexpected, unknown?