Ideally, Both Members Of A

Woman's Normal Occupations In General Run Counter To Creative Life, Or Contemplative Life, Or Saintly Life.

It Is The Striving After Perfection That Makes One An Artist. It Is The Sense That One Is Imperfect, Unfulfilled, Unfinished. One Attempts By A Superhuman Effort To Fill The Gap, To Leap Over It, To Finish It In Another Medium. And One Creates A Third And Separate Thing: 'adventure Rarely Reaches Its Predetermined End. Columbus Never Reached China. But He Discovered America.

For Relationships, Too, Must Be Like Islands. One Must Accept Them For What They Are Here And Now, Within Their Limits - Islands Surrounded And Interrupted By The Sea, Continuously Visited And Abandoned By The Tides. One Must Accept The Serenity Of The Winged Life, Of Ebb And Flow, Of Intermittency.

Who Is Not Afraid Of Pure Space - That Breathtaking Empty Space Of An Open Door?

To Me There Is Something Completely And Satisfyingly Restful In That Stretch Of Sea And Sand, Sea And Sand And Sky - Complete Peace, Complete Fulfillment.