You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time...
What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,White as a knuckle and terribly upset.It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quietWith the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Now I am silent, hateUp to my neck,Thick, thick.I do not speak.
If you love her, I said, you'll love somebody else someday.
I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in...
I laid my face to the smooth face of the marble and howled my loss into the cold salt rain.
I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and saying Ah! in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as I we...
I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
I felt sorry when I came to the last page. I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence.
I also hate people to ask cheerfully how you are when they know you're feeling like hell and expect you to say fine
How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or seen anybody die?
How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying...
And I, love, am a pathological liar.
All, all, becomes profitable. Education is of the most satisfying and available nature. I am at Smith! Which two years ago was a doubtful dream - and that fortuitous change of dream to reality has led...
I have done, this year, what I said I would: overcome my fear of facing a blank page day after day, acknowledging myself, in my deepest emotions, a writer, come what may.
I tried to imagine what it would be like if Constantin were my husband.It would mean getting up at seven and cooking him eggs and bacon and toast andcoffee and dawdling about in my nightgown and curle...
When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.Oh, sure you know, the photographer said.She wants, said Jay Cee wittily, to be everything.