I read of the Kalamazoo girl who killed herself after reading the book. I am not at all surprised. She lived in Kalamazoo, for one thing, and then she read the book.
I am lithe, but fragile from constant involuntary self-analysis.
I have never read a line of Walt Whitman.
Do you think a man is the only creature with whom one may fall in love?
The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white hawthorn.
May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity - a virtuous woman.