Oh, I am in love with life!
I use my friends rather as giglamps : There's another field I see: by your light. Over there's a hill. I widen my landscape.
Any woman born with a great gift in the sixteenth century would certainly have gone crazed, shot herself, or ended her days in some lonely cottage outside the village, half witch, half wizard, feared and mocked at.
She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea.
I'm convinced people are wrong when they say it's work that wears one; it's responsibility.
I [who] am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement...