I have never read a line of Walt Whitman.

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

There is really no right and wrong. I recognize no right and wrong.

However great one's gift of language may be, there is always something that one cannot tell.

I have never read a line of Walt Whitman.

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

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.