No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.
We insist, it seems, on living.
To know whom to write for is to know how to write.
A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.
I must try to set aside half an hour in some part of my day, and consecrate it to diary writing. Give it a name and a place, and then perhaps, such is the human mind, I shall come to think it a duty, and disregard other duties for it.
My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.
The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.
I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
You cannot find peace by avoiding life.
What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.
For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you
I am rooted, but I flow.
Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotchpotch of impulses, our perpetual miracle - for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death; let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life.
How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?
Be truthful, and the result is bound to be amazingly interesting.
A feminist is any woman who tells the truth about her life
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.
I like to have space to spread my mind out in.
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.
I'm sick to death of this particular self. I want another.
Until we can comprehend the beguiling beauty of a single flower, we are woefully unable to grasp the meaning and potential of life itself.
Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.
A light here required a shadow there.
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