The Beach Is Not The Place To

The Bearing, Rearing, Feeding And Educating Of Children; The Running Of A House With Its Thousand Details; Human Relationships With Their Myriad Pulls - Women's Normal Occupations In General Run Counter To Creative Life, Or Contemplative Life, Or Saintly Life.

It's Funny How You Can Be Mad At Someone One Moment And Want To Hug Them The Next.

One Writes Not To Be Read But To Breathe...one Writes To Think, To Pray, To Analyze. One Writes To Clear One's Mind, To Dissipate One's Fears, To Face One's Doubts, To Look At One's Mistakes--in Order To Retrieve Them. One Writes To Capture And Crystallize One's Joy, But Also To Disperse One's Gloom. Like Prayer--you Go To It In Sorrow More Than Joy, For Help, A Road Back To 'grace'.

Only Love Can Be Divided Endlessly And Still Not Diminish.

Certain Springs Are Tapped Only When We Are Alone. Women Need Solitude In Order To Find Again The True Essence Of Themselves; That Firm Strand Which Will Be The Indispensable Center Of A Whole Web Of Human Relationships.