Let me but make a beginning, let me but strike the world in a vulnerable spot, and I can take it by storm.

Fame is indeed beautiful and benign and gentle and satisfying, but happiness is something at once tender and brilliant beyond all things.

Are there many things in this cool-hearted world so utterly exquisite as the pure love of one woman for another woman?

When I wrote my book I wanted to love someone. I wanted to be in love. Now I know that I shall never be in love - and I no longer wish to be.

I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate feeling. I feel—everything. It is my genius. It burns me like fire.

Genius, apart from natural sensitiveness, is prone equally to unreasoning joy and to bitterest morbidness.

I am lithe, but fragile from constant involuntary self-analysis.