For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
Fear no more, says the heart.
I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.
Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.
Love had a thousand shapes.
Books are the mirrors of the soul.
To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.
Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.
As a woman I have no country. As a woman my country is the whole world.
Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.
I always had the deepest affection for people who carried sublime tears in their silences.
The way to write well is to live intensely.
Until we can comprehend the beguiling beauty of a single flower, we are woefully unable to grasp the meaning and potential of life itself.
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
The only advice ... that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions.
How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.
It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple: one must be a woman manly, or a man womanly.
Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.
I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves.
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