But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.

Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?

Incessant company is as bad as solitary confinement.

I was in a queer mood, thinking myself very old: but now I am a woman again - as I always am when I write.

No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes

I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.

Let it be fact, one feels, or let it be fiction; the imagination will not serve under two masters simultaneously.