Direction, that's what I'm after, everything moving together, relative movement, sympathetic movement, connected movement, flowing, liquid, universal movement, all directions summing up in one grand direction, leading the eye forward, and satisfying. Oh she was no angel. Sometimes the diary mingles pettiness with bitterness, sometimes she just blasts off unreasonably at someone or something to get it off her chest. But even in those moods there's a distinction to her. Emily Carr also touches on loneliness from time to time, but in a way that should help the lonely rather than otherwise.
Every soul is so completely, totally alone .
We don't understand our very closest, and half our trouble comes from thinking we do and reading them through our own particular colored glasses. We all die unknown. It seems there is too much of everything in the world. Everybody does everything and there is a surfeit of all things and everyone wants to flap out from the flagpole at the tip top and nobody wants to climb the stairs and, step by step, get used to the higher air. But she charges on, enchanted by living and working.