An entry from her journal:
I see the hand that plucks the grain, and see that it is missing something. It carries out the act, moving to the soil, and to the sack being filled, and then back again to the soil.
But the hand moves without its own reason, it simply complies with a task like all the other hands in the field, and this hand is weaker for it, for not finding its own reason.
Does marriage scare you?
Committing to one person does not, but to feel taken advantage of terrifies me. I’ve seen how marriage can squander desire. The contract, although well intended, does not absolve insecurities or bad character. Even good people become so confident that a bond confirmed by ink signatures should weather all things, tolerate all actions, and worst of all, tolerate a life where there is no action at all. I understand that passion rises and falls, that it evolves with age and experience, but why must it die?