I Am Not Proud, But I Am

Woman Is Sacred; The Woman One Loves Is Holy.

Well, Father, In The Shipwreck Of Life, For Life Is An Eternal Shipwreck Of Our Hopes, I Cast Into The Sea My Useless Encumbrance, That Is All, And I Remain With My Own Will, Disposed To Live Perfectly Alone, And, Consequently, Perfectly Free. (eugenie To Her Father)

Through The Ingenuousness Of Her Age Beamed An Ardent Mind, A Mind Not Of The Women But Of The Poet; She Did Not Please, She Intoxicated.

Misfortune Does Not Help Us To Believe.

Your Life Story Is A Novel; And People, Though They Love Novels Wound Between Two Yellow Paper Covers, Are Oddly Suspicious Of Those Which Come To Them In Living Vellum.