A Cigar Numbs Sorrow And

The Trade Of Authorship Is A Violent, And Indestructible Obsession.

I Was Born To Love - But None Of You Wanted To Believe It, And That Misunderstanding Was Crucial In Forming My Character. It's True That Nature Was Strangely Inconsistent In Giving Me A Warm Heart, But Also A Face That Was Like A Stone Mask And A Tongue That Was Heavy And Slow. She Refused Me What She Bestowed Freely On Even The Most Loutish Of My Fellow Men. . . . People Judged My Inner Character By My Outer Covering, And Like A Sterile Fruit, I Withered Under The Rough Husk I Couldn't Slough Off.

No Human Being Can Control Love, And No One Is To Blame Either For Feeling It Or For Losing It. What Alone Degrades A Woman Is Falsehood.

Nature Has Not Changed. The Night Is Still Unsullied, The Stars Still Twinkle, And The Wild Thyme Smells As Sweetly Now As It Did Then ... We May Be Afflicted And Unhappy, But No One Can Take From Us The Sweet Delight Which Is Nature's Gift To Those Who Love Her And Her Poetry.

If People Were Not Wicked I Should Not Mind Their Being Stupid; But, To Our Misfortune, They Are Both.