I Am Lithe, But Fragile From Constant

The World Is Like A Little Marsh Filled With Mint And White Hawthorn.

I Began To Be A Woman At Twelve, Or More Properly, A Genius.

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

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.

I Want Fame More Than I Can Tell. But More Than I Want Fame I Want Happiness.