I see the mind of the 5-year-old as a volcano with two vents: destructiveness and creativeness.

I am my own Universe, I my own Professor.

The truth is that I am enslaved… in one vast love affair with 70 children.

As the blackness of the night recedes so does the nadir of yesterday. The child I am forgets so quickly.

When I teach people, I marry them.

Love has the quality of informing almost everything – even one’s work.

I am inclined to think that eating is a private thing and should be done alone, like other bodily functions.

I’ve got to relearn what I was supposed to have learned.

God, the illogic! The impossibility of communication in this house. The sheer operation alone of getting something through to somebody.