We shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—
Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so slightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man; some think even greater.