At twenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they never will. At thirty, they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact.

I often think flowers are the angels' alphabet whereby they write on hills and fields mysterious and beautiful lessons for us to feel and learn.

The mere possession of a gun is, in itself, an urge to kill, not only by design, but by accident, by madness, by fright, by bravado.

I hate ordinary people!

Now we are expected to be as wise as men who have had generations of all the help there is, and we scarcely anything.

...for a girl with eyes like hers has a will and is not ruled by anyone but a lover.

…because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing.