I want fame more than I can tell. But more than I want fame I want happiness.

Well, if I am not vulgar, neither is my book. I wrote myself. Suggestiveness is always vulgar. But truth never. My book is not even remotely suggestive. I call things by their names. That is all.

It is with pain that I read of the dire effects of my book upon the minds of young girls.

I never give my real self. I have a hundred sides, and I turn first one way and then the other. I am playing a deep game. I have a number of strong cards up my sleeve. I have never been myself, excepting to two friends.

I've never made plans for more than a day ahead.

I consider calmly the question of how much evil I should need to kill off my finer feelings.

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