I Only Want To Write. And There's

I Am A Restlessness Inside A Stillness Inside A Restlessness.

Was I The Only Woman In The World Who, At My Age - And After A Lifetime Of Quite Rampant Independence - Still Did Not Quite Feel Grown Up?

I Should Rather Like To Tear These Last Pages Out Of The Book. Shall I? No-a Journal Ought Not To Cheat.

I Have Really Sinned. I Am Going To Pause Now, And Sit Here On The Mound Repenting In Deepest Shame.

The Family - That Dear Octopus From Whose Tentacles We Never Quite Escape, Nor, In Our Inmost Hearts, Ever Quite Wish To.