Then marriage had happened to her and with it children and the loss of the immediate chance to realise the passionate vision of her adolescence, a vision which adhered to her from far back in her radiant childhood, that timeless age when one sees clearly. Somewhere within this now middle-aged lady she had always protected a movement of her intellect, which she had never been able to express. Thus it was protected from being subsumed under philosophy or some other category of man's thinking. Things that are categorised are easily dealt with. The arguments are worn out.
Thought is something for the great and the famous, for professionals.
The rest of us are lucky that we live in a literate society and can humbly sit at the bottom of the pages of their books and try and digest their thinking. Elizabeth was wont to think thoughts that frightened her. Despite being widely read she knew of nobody that had thought her thoughts. Then she might have been able to stop thinking them and read their books instead. The few times she mentioned it to her husband he pooh-poohed it.