Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.
Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.
Before exulatation had vanished, I felt as if I had been granted a marvellous privilege. Out of the inscrutable waters a beautiful fish had somehow leaped to show me fleetingly the life and spirit of his element.
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
I love my work but do not know how I write it.
Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.