All Autobiography Is Self-indulgent.

When She Smiled It Was As Though She Embraced The World.

Here Was A Silence Between Them For A Moment, And She Wondered If All Women, When In Love, Were Torn Between Two Impulses, A Longing To Throw Modesty And Reserve To The Winds And Confess Everything, And An Equal Determination To Conceal The Love Forever, To Be Cool, Aloof, Utterly Detached, To Die Rather Than Admit A Thing So Personal, So Intimate.

...but I Should Say That Kindliness, And Sincerity, And If I May Say So--modesty--are Worth Far More To A Man, To A Husband, Than All The Wit And Beauty In The World.

Men Are Simpler Than You Imagine My Sweet Child. But What Goes On In The Twisted, Tortuous Minds Of Women Would Baffle Anyone.

No Person Will Ever Get Into My Blood As A Place Can ... People And Things Pass Away, But Not Places.