I Have Never Read A Line Of

I Am Lithe, But Fragile From Constant Involuntary Self-analysis.

Well, If I Am Not Vulgar, Neither Is My Book. I Wrote Myself. Suggestiveness Is Always Vulgar. But Truth Never. My Book Is Not Even Remotely Suggestive. I Call Things By Their Names. That Is All.

Are There Many Things In This Cool-hearted World So Utterly Exquisite As The Pure Love Of One Woman For Another Woman?

Except Two Breeds - The Stupid And The Narrowly Feline - All Women Have A Touch Of The Lesbian: An Assertion All Good Non-analytic Creatures Refute With Horror, But Quite True: There Is Always The Poignant Intensive Personal Taste, The Flair Of Inner-sex, In The Tenderest Friendships Of Women.

I Consider Calmly The Question Of How Much Evil I Should Need To Kill Off My Finer Feelings.