For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the ink pot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writin...
Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs collectively for all sorrows, and renews, begins, collects, lets fall
Everything is strange. Things are huge and very small. The stalks of flowers are thick as oak trees. Leaves are high as the domes of vast cathedrals. We are giants, lying here, who can make forests qu...
Despairing of human relationships (people were so difficult), she often went into her garden and got from her flowers a peace which men and women never gave her.
But what after all is one night? A short space, especially when the darkness dims so soon, and so soon a bird sings, a cock crows, or a faint green quickens, like a turning leaf, in the hollow of the...
Books - books - books, said Helen, in her absent-minded way. More new books - I wonder what you find in them...
Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.
About here, she thought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and she muttered, dreamily half asleep, how we perished, each alone.
Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the singl...
I prefer, where truth is important, to write fiction.
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality
For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty.
Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.
To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is...at last, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away...
The connection between dress and war is not far to seek your finest clothes are those you wear as soldiers.
You cannot find peace by avoiding life.
So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again as she sat with the...
Would there be trees if we didn't see them?
What does the brain matter compared with the heart?