I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.

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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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I am overwhelmed with things I ought to have written about and never found the proper words.

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To make ideas effective, we must be able to fire them off. We must put them into action.

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The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.

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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.

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For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.

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Be truthful, and the result is bound to be amazingly interesting.

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The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.

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You cannot find peace by avoiding life.

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