Madhouses are houses made on purpose to cause suffering . . . I cannot stand any longer the screams of these creatures.

Madhouses are houses made on purpose to cause suffering . . . I cannot stand any longer the screams of these creatures.

I have been back in Paris for two weeks. Nothing new. Life is still bitter.

Sir Rodin convinced my parents to have me committed; they are all in Paris to arrange it.

I would prefer to have a more appealing job. If I could still change careers, I would prefer it. This unfortunate art is made for long beards and ugly faces rather than for a relatively well-endowed woman.

You know what black hatred women feel toward me as soon as they see me, until I return inside my shell, they use every possible weapon. As soon as a generous man tries to help me out, a woman is here to hold his arm and prevent him from acting.

I am in no mood to be deceived any longer by the crafty devil and false character whose greatest pleasure is to take advantage of everyone.