I began to be a woman at twelve, or more properly, a genius.

Some day the Devil will come to me and say: 'Come with me.'And I will answer: 'Yes.

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

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.

Just why I sent it to the publishers would be hard to say, but when I had finished it I felt that it was literature, because it is real and because it was well written. And I know that the world wants such things.

Except two breeds - the stupid and the narrowly feline - all women have a touch of the Lesbian: an assertion all good non-analytic creatures refute with horror, but quite true: there is always the poignant intensive personal taste, the flair of inner-sex, in the tenderest friendships of women.