But in my life, in my personality, there is an essence of falseness and insincerity. A thin, fine vapor of fraud hangs always over me and dampens and injures some things in me that I value.

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

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

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

I can think of nothing in the world like the utter littleness, the paltriness, the contemptibleness, the degradation, of the woman who is tied down under a roof with a man who is really nothing to her; who wears the man’s name, who bears the man’s children — who plays the virtuous woman. . . . May I never, I say, become that abnormal merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity — a virtuous woman.

You may think me crude, and probably I am crude, but I am not so crude as I was, for I am clever enough to see that the girl of nineteen who thought herself a genius was only an unusual girl writing her heart out.

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