Life is made for the strong. There is no mercy in it for the weak– none...Such is the tragedy of desire.

I believe in the compelling power of love. I do not understand it. I believe it to be the most fragrant blossom of all this thorny existence.

If you have that unconquerable urge to write, nothing will stop you from writing.

Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean.

A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse