There Is Really No Right And Wrong.

I Am Not Good. I Am Not Virtuous. I Am Not Sympathetic. I Am Not Generous. I Am Merely And Above All A Creature Of Intense Passionate Feeling. I Feel—everything. It Is My Genius. It Burns Me Like Fire.

One Must Always Say Things That Aim To Interest, Because In The World One Must After All Pay For One's Keep.

May I Never, I Say, Become That Abnormal, Merciless Animal, That Deformed Monstrosity - A Virtuous Woman.

I Can Think Of Nothing In The World Like The Utter Littleness, The Paltriness, The Contemptibleness, The Degradation, Of The Woman Who Is Tied Down Under A Roof With A Man Who Is Really Nothing To Her; Who Wears The Man’s Name, Who Bears The Man’s Children — Who Plays The Virtuous Woman. . . . May I Never, I Say, Become That Abnormal Merciless Animal, That Deformed Monstrosity — A Virtuous Woman.

I Am A Genius. Then It Amused Me To Keep Saying So, But Now It Does Not. I Expected To Be Happy Sometime. Now I Know I Shall Never Be.