Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer.

The sincerity of feeling that is possible between a writer and a reader is one of the finest things I know.

I have not much faith in women in fiction.... Women are so horribly subjective and they have such scorn for the healthy commonplace. When a woman writes a story of adventure, a stout sea tale, a manly battle yarn, anything without wine, women, and love, then I will begin to hope for something great from them, not before.

There is something frank and joyous and young in the open face of the country. It gives itself ungrudgingly to the moods of the season, holding nothing back.

Personal hatred and family affection are not incompatible; they often flourish and grow strong together.

Your vivid, exciting companionship in the office must not be your audience, you must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that to the world.

Today I stood taller from walking among the trees.