She saw something awful in the very simplicity she failed to understand.

But I always felt that I'd rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: "She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven."

Beauty is only to be admired, only to be loved - to be harvested carefully and then flung at a chosen lover like a gift of roses. It seems to me, so far as I can judge clearly at all, that my beauty would be used like that.

Any person with any imagination is bound to be afraid.

To write it, it took three months; to conceive it three minutes; to collect the data in it all my life.

There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind.