It Is With Pain That I Read

There Is Really No Right And Wrong. I Recognize No Right And Wrong.

I Read Of The Kalamazoo Girl Who Killed Herself After Reading The Book. I Am Not At All Surprised. She Lived In Kalamazoo, For One Thing, And Then She Read The Book.

Fame Is Indeed Beautiful And Benign And Gentle And Satisfying, But Happiness Is Something At Once Tender And Brilliant Beyond All Things.

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.

I Am A Genius. Then It Amused Me To Keep Saying So, But Now It Does Not. I Expected To Be Happy Sometime. Now I Know I Shall Never Be.