I Capture the Castle

by Dodie Smith

And I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring—I wrote my very best poem while sitting on the hen-house.

the more my mind’s eye sees green and gold, the more drained of all colour does the twilight seem.

“the iron has entered into his soul.”

his unsociability has grown almost into a disease—

“because one must sink to the depths in order to rise to the heights,”

There is a bright edge to each head, where the firelight shines through their hair.

I thank heaven there is no cheaper form of bread than bread.

Rose says I am always crediting people with emotions I should experience myself in their situation, but I am sure I had a real flash of intuition then.

I could easily go on writing all night but I can’t really see and it’s extravagant on paper, so I shall merely think. Contemplation seems to be about the only luxury that costs nothing.

I am surprised to see how much I have written; with stories even a page can take me hours, but the truth seems to flow out as fast as I can get it down.

When I read a book, I put in all the imagination I can, so that it is almost like writing the book as well as reading it—or rather, it is like living it. It makes reading so much more exciting, but I don’t suppose many people try to do it.

I shall go down and be very kind to everyone. Noble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for depression.

miserable people cannot afford to dislike each other. Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.

time takes the ugliness and horror out of death and turns it into beauty.

I wish I could find words—serious, beautiful words—to describe it in the afternoon sunlight; the more I strive for them, the more they utterly elude me.

I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No—a journal ought not to cheat.

It was a wonderful dinner with real champagne (lovely, rather like very good ginger ale without the ginger).

Perhaps if I make myself write I shall find out what is wrong with me.

The thought came to me that perhaps it is the loving that counts, not the being loved in return—that perhaps true loving can never know anything but happiness. For a moment I felt that I had discovered a great truth.

You lose yourself in something beyond yourself and it’s a lovely rest.”

Perhaps watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can.

only want to write. And there’s no college for that except life.”

Even a broken heart doesn’t warrant a waste of good paper.