If You Haven't Had Your Life What

A Swift Carriage, Of A Dark Night, Rattling With Four Horses Over Roads That One Can’t See--that’s My Idea Of Happiness.

She Took Refuge On The Firm Ground Of Fiction, Through Which Indeed There Curled The Blue River Of Truth.

The Fatal Futility Of Fact.

...and The Great Advantage Of Being A Literary Woman, Was That You Could Go Everywhere And Do Everything.

The Superiority Of One Man's Opinion Over Another's Is Never So Great As When The Opinion Is About A Woman.