I Am Lithe, But Fragile From Constant

You May Think Me Crude, And Probably I Am Crude, But I Am Not So Crude As I Was, For I Am Clever Enough To See That The Girl Of Nineteen Who Thought Herself A Genius Was Only An Unusual Girl Writing Her Heart Out.

Well, If I Am Not Vulgar, Neither Is My Book. I Wrote Myself. Suggestiveness Is Always Vulgar. But Truth Never. My Book Is Not Even Remotely Suggestive. I Call Things By Their Names. That Is All.

My Intention To Lecture Is As Vague As My Intention Is To Go On The Stage. I Will Never Consider An Offer To Lecture, Not Because I Despise The Vocation, But Because I Have No Desire To Appear On The Public Rostrum.

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.

It Is With Pain That I Read Of The Dire Effects Of My Book Upon The Minds Of Young Girls.