Such were her thoughts, though she lacked the words to express them.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

As my common sense pressed her fingertips together, 'Keep a journal and put all of your feelings inside it,' and I made an effort, I really did, but my feelings are so many that even a hundred journals later I am not empty-

I don't know what I think until I write it down.

The nicest part is being able to write down all my thoughts and feeling; otherwise, I might suffocate.

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

If I want to understand what moves me, what confuses me, what pains me — everything that makes me react, in short — I have to put it into words.

I'm just going to write because I cannot help it.

I must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words.

You ask me why I do not write something.... I think one's feelings waste themselves in words, they ought all to be distilled into actions and into actions which bring results.

Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.

Write what I tell you in your book of memory.

I can't really articulate what I feel,

I do not know what I think until I write it.