When Another Writer In Another House Is

The Knowledge That She Could Learn To Love A Man Had Always Meant More To Her Than Loving Him Effortlessly, More Even Than Falling In Love, And That Was Why She Now Felt That She Was On The Threshold Of A New Life, A Happiness Bound To Endure For A Very Long Time.

The Gap Between Compassion And Surrender Is Love’s Darkest, Deepest Region.

For The Traveler We See Leaning On His Neighbor Is An Honest And Well-meaning Man And Full Of Melancholy, Like Those Chekhov Characters So Laden With Virtues That They Never Know Success In Life.

Writing My Own Diary Is The Best Form Of Remembrance, But Only For My Own Use. I Need These Notes; It's Like An Impulse.

There's A Lot Of Pride Involved In My Refusal To Believe In God.