“One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.”

“Constancy is my true nature! I shall never look at another woman for the rest of my days, or rather, I shall look, but they shall be to me like chairs, or tables. Not that I intend to sit, of course, or eat off them, but in the sense that they are but furniture.”

“Stories heard but not recalled. Letters too. Words filling my head. Fragmenting like artillery shells. Shrapnel, like syllables, flying everywhere. Terrible syllables. Sharp cracked. Traveling at murderous speed. Tearing through it all in a very, very bad inreparable way.”

“How I love - writing, acting, breathing the atmosphere- and one day I'll have it. If I cannot write, I shall die.”

“If our enemies take meAnd people stop talking to me,If they confiscate the whole world—The right to breathe, open doors, Affirm that existence shall go onAnd that people, like a judge, shall judge,And if they dare to keep me like an animalAnd fling my food on the floor, I won’t fall silent or deaden the agony,But shall write what I am free to write,My naked body gathering momentum like a bell,And in a corner of the ominous darkI shall yoke ten oxen to my voiceAnd move my hand in the darkness like a ploughAnd, wrung out into a legion of brotherly eyes,Shall fall with the full heaviness of a harvest,Exploding in the distance with all the force of a vow,And in the depths of the unguarded nightThe eyes of that unskilled laborer, earth, shall shineAnd a flock of flaming years swoop down,And like a ripe thunderstorm Lenin shall burst forth.But on this earth (which shall escape decay)There to wake up life and reason will be”

“Yes," she said. "I live in Poverty Vale. The floor of the valley is very hard and poor. But the King walks with me here. Every day he comes and helps me. Every day he helps me bear my burden. Showers of blessing fall every day or two. In my struggles celestial ones camp about me. I feel their ministrations. I enjoy their care. I know what is pain and what is poverty and what is persecution, but while the King walks with me I shall not murmur. Yea, tho I walk through the vale of poverty all the days of my life, yet I shall feast at the table of my King and my cup of joy shall run over”