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

I was born to be alone, and I always shall be but now I want to be.

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

The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white hawthorn.

I do not see any beauty in self-restraint.

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 would rather be a fairly happy wife and mother.