Love Is Our Human Miracle.

One Has Only To Set A Loved Human Being Against The Fact That We Are All In Peril All The Time To Get Back A Sense Of Proportion. What Does Anything Matter Compared To The Reality Of Love And Its Span, So Brief At Best, Maintained Against Such Odds?

At Any Moment Solitude May Put On The Face Of Loneliness.

It Feels A Long Way Up And Down From Zero.

Revision Is Not Going Back And Fussing Around, But Going Forward Into The Process Of Creation

There Was Such A Thing As Women's Work And It Consisted Chiefly, Hilary Sometimes Thought, In Being Able To Stand Constant Interruption And Keep Your Temper. . . .