A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.
We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?
It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would lose herself, become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it.
It's no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You've got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they've got to come. You can't force them.
Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.
I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual - we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.
It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself
The living self has one purpose only: to come into its own fullness of being.
Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.
And when the dawn comes creeping in, Cautiously I shall raise Myself to watch the daylight win.
There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
Men are free when they are obeying some deep, inward voice of religious belief. Obeying from within. Men are free when they belong to a living, organic, believing community, active in fulfilling some unfulfilled, perhaps unrealized purpose. Not when they are escaping to some wild west. The most unfree souls go west, and shout of freedom.
Sometimes life takes hold of one, carries the body along, accomplishes one's history, and yet is not real, but leaves oneself as it were slurred over.
My God, these folks don't know how to love -- that's why they love so easily.
Time went on. Whatever happened, nothing happened, because she was so beautifully out of contact . . . Time went on as the clock does, half-past eight instead of half-past seven.
We are so overwhelmed with quantities of books, that we hardly realize any more that a book can be valuable, valuable like a jewel, or a lovely picture, into which you can look deeper and deeper and get a more profound experience very time. It is far, far better to read one book six times, at intervals, than to read six several books.
One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.