It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple; one must be woman-manly or man-womanly. It is fatal for a woman to lay the least stress on any grievance; to plead even with justice any cause; in any way to speak consciously as a woman. And fatal is no figure of speech; for anything written with that conscious bias is doomed to death. It ceases to be fertilized.

The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering.

If we face the fact, for it is a fact, that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women.

Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?

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.

I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity.

Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of living?