The Lovesick, The Betrayed, And The Jealous

Jealousy Is Not At All Low, But It Catches Us Humbled And Bowed Down, At First Sight.

The Only Virtue On Which I Pride Myself Is My Self-doubt; When A Writer Loses Her Self-doubt, The Time Has Come To Lay Aside Her Pen.

A Pretty Little Collection Of Weaknesses And A Terror Of Spiders Are Our Indispensable Stock-in-trade With The Men...

Among All The Modernized Aspects Of The Most Luxurious Of Industries, The Model, A Vestige Of Voluptuous Barbarianism, Is Like Some Plunder-laden Prey. She Is The Object Of Unbridled Regard, A Living Bait, The Passive Realization Of An Ideal. No Other Female Occupation Contains Such Potent Impulses To Moral Disintegration As This One, Applying As It Does The Outward Signs Of Riches To A Poor And Beautiful Girl.

It's So Curious: One Can Resist Tears And 'behave' Very Well In The Hardest Hours Of Grief. But Then Someone Makes You A Friendly Sign Behind A Window, Or One Notices That A Flower That Was In Bud Only Yesterday Has Suddenly Blossomed, Or A Letter Slips From A Drawer... And Everything Collapses.