He Who Demands Little Gets It.

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

Words, Like Acts, Become Stale When They Are Repeated.

I Revolted From Sentimentality, Less Because It Was False Than Because It Was Cruel.

In Her Single Person She Managed To Produce The Effect Of A Majority.

I Had No Place In Any Coterie, Or In Any Reciprocal Self-advertising. I Stood Alone. I Stood Outside. I Wanted Only To Learn. I Wanted Only To Write Better.