All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the tomb of Aphra Behn, for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds.

I detest the masculine point of view. I am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. I think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore.

And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life.

. . . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude.

I want some one to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarreling and reconciliation I need privacy--to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order. For I am as neat as a cat in my habits.

I feel my brains, like a pear, to see if it's ripe; it will be exquisite by September.

Speech is an old torn net, through which the fish escape as one casts it over them.