Travel Can Be One Of

A Diary Is The Last Place To Go If You Wish To Seek The Truth About A Person. Nobody Dares To Make The Final Confession To Themselves On Paper: Or At Least, Not About Love.

Frost In January Minus 20 For A Week. Dead Birds Frozen On The Branch—they Fall With The First Thaw Like Ripe Fruit—death-ripened. We Shall All End Like Them—just A Stain In The Snow.

People Only See In Us The Contemptible Skirt-fever Which Rules Our Actions But Completely Miss The Beauty-hunger Underlying It.

It Only Takes One Match To Ignite A Haystack, Or One Remark To Fire A Mind.

No One Can Go On Being A Rebel Too Long Without Turning Into An Autocrat.