Noble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for depression.
How I wish I lived in a Jane Austen novel!
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
When I read a book, I put in all the imagination I can, so that it is almost like writing the book as well as reading it – or rather, it is like living it. It makes reading so much more exciting, but I don’t suppose many people try to do it.
Perhaps watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can.
I like seeing people when they can’t see me.
Contemplation seems to be about the only luxury that costs nothing.
Even a broken heart doesn’t warrant a waste of good paper.
Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?
I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.
Perhaps if I make myself write I shall find out what is wrong with me.
Just to be in love seemed the most blissful luxury I had ever known. The thought came to me that perhaps it is the loving that counts, not the being loved in return – that perhaps true loving can never know anything but happiness. For a moment I felt that I had discovered a great truth.
I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring – I wrote my very best poem while sitting on the hen-house.
But the happiness you hoped to win for me will never be mine.