“Plots come to me at such odd moments, when I am walking along the street, or examining a hat shop…suddenly a splendid idea comes into my head.”

“For the moment I can only cry out that I have lost my splendid mirage. Come back, come back, O glittering and white!”

“My world speeds up. After years of moving along in slow motion, I am suddenly surging through the moments. He touches me, and like flame to dry grass, I am consumed.”

“When I walked down the streets, I asked myself, are these my people?, is this my hometown, am I who I am?”

“The third week of June, and there it is again: the same almost embarrassing familiar breath of sweetness that comes every year about this time. I catch it on the warm evening air as I walk past the well-ordered gardens in my quiet street, and for a moment I am a child again and everything before me - all of the frightening, half-understood promises of life.”

“And in my head, a person who was out walking and walking in the dark comes to a little house with a light on. Waits at the door for a moment, and then goes in. Finds such a welcome that she stays.”