I Am Lithe, But Fragile

Just Why I Sent It To The Publishers Would Be Hard To Say, But When I Had Finished It I Felt That It Was Literature, Because It Is Real And Because It Was Well Written. And I Know That The World Wants Such Things.

Genius, Apart From Natural Sensitiveness, Is Prone Equally To Unreasoning Joy And To Bitterest Morbidness.

When I Wrote My Book I Wanted To Love Someone. I Wanted To Be In Love. Now I Know That I Shall Never Be In Love - And I No Longer Wish To Be.

The World Is Like A Little Marsh Filled With Mint And White Hawthorn.

I Was Born To Be Alone, And I Always Shall Be But Now I Want To Be.