These small pieces from her diary - written at the age of around 18-20 - were part of her exlorations and understanding of life, living, loving and dying...
Come and sit by its shores - all are drawn irresistably and sustain their energies - even save their lives - by drinking a little from time to time, in their tedious journey through desert sands of monotonous life and boundless ice of unsaid words, unheard prayers and unread expressions in glassy eyes.
But wait till evening, let others pass on and resume their journey. Know that this river holds not only the key to life, but also some precious gems which it will yield only to those who will converse with it alone in whispers, using its language. And plunge deep into its unknown shades and search there. Wait in patience and let the beauty of the darkness grow upon you. If you grope in shallow waters you will be sure to get nothing but dirt and muddy waters, infilterating into your system when you drink it, and splashing your clothes with stains that are not easily washed away. Go upstream where few people ever reach and even there, imitate not the others, but search for yourself - you will find the stones that you seek to cherish forever. You will be rich ever afterwards, when you find them....
Death in water, death in the wind - would that I die as I wish and in no other way - some day when the wind is blowing its maddest and there are terrific torrential rains sweeping away the trees, the soil, the vegetation - when there is no end to the darkness and giant trees and rocks are ripped from their places - there is no corner of blue sky to be seen and nothing but darkness all around engulfing everything - when in all the world there is nothing but deafening sounds of the rushing wind, pouring water, the cracking trees - then let me be carried up, and left to float down and be even torn to pieces in the atmosphere.
My heart revolts in locked rooms; in houses with windows and doors shut tightly to keep out the draught. It is as if I had left someone outside - someone who is extremely dear to me. To sleep in easiest when I am in the arms of the wind... the powerful arms that always make me feel secure and replenish my feelings of melancholic satisfaction with resurging hopes and happiness. Water in any form stimulates my thought processes. I am able to think most clearly when it is raining. Walking I have identified with lust perhaps, or at least with sex, because I am gaining something and losing something when I am walking, and I am usually able to sleep better after I’ve walked five or six miles.
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