“a happy birthdaythis evening, I sat by an open windowand read till the light was gone and the bookwas no more than a part of the darkness.I could easily have switched on a lamp,but I wanted to ride the day down into night,to sit alone, and smooth the unreadable pagewith the pale gray ghost of my hand”

“I lost the letter in rather embarrassing circumstances. We were to dine at Parramatta Government House that same evening, and Peter had come in early from harvesting the wheat, sitting down in all his dirt to read the precious missive. I sat beside him, fresh from my bath. And so handsome did my husband look, long legs sprawled in Dungaree trousers and frowning over my father's spiky hand, that I could not resist reaching out to smooth away the frown. He caught my hand to his lips, still reading, and then chancing to look up, and reading my face more swiftly than he would ever read the written word, pulled me onto his lap.”

“Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before.”

“...and in the deep, dreaming hours I am easily moved by the stories of the real men and women who have lived out their passions on a scale so much greater than my own. It is at night, with a book open and these noble ghosts rising from the page, that I believe most strongly in the grandeur of life and feel most alone.”

“For my own part, I have never had a thought which I could not set down in words, with even more distinctness than that with which I conceived it.”

“I had been alone more than I could have been had I gone by myself.”