Goodbye -- Because I Love You.

Do You Suppose A Woman Knows Why She Loves? Does She Select? Does She Say To Herself, 'go To! Here Is A Distinguished Statesman With Presidential Possibilities; I Shall Proceed To Fall In Love With Him.' Or, 'i Shall Set My Heart Upon This Musician, Whose Fame Is On Every Tongue?' Or 'this Financier, Who Controls The World's Money Markets?'

You Have Been A Very Foolish Boy, Wasting Your Time Dreaming Of Impossible Things When You Speak Of Mr. Pontellier Setting Me Free! I Am No Longer One Of Mr. Pontelliere's Possessions To Dispose Of Or Not. I Give Myself Where I Choose. If He Were To Say, 'here Robert, Take Her And Be Happy; She Is Yours,' I Should Laugh At You Both.

There Would Be No One There To Live For Her During Those Coming Years; She Would Live For Herself. There Would Be No Powerful Will Bending Hers In That Blind Persistance With Which Men And Women Believe They Have A Right To Impose A Private Will Upon A Fellow-creature. A Kind Intention Or A Cruel Intention Made The Act Seem No Less A Crime As She Looked Upon It In That Brief Moment Of Illumination.

Who Can Tell What Metals The Gods Use In Forging The Subtle Bond Which We Call Sympathy, Which We Might As Well Call Love.

No, I Only Think You Cruel, As I Said The Other Day. Maybe Not Intentionally Cruel; But You Seem To Be Forcing Me Into Disclosures Which Can Result In Nothing; As If You Would Have Me Bare A Wound For The Pleasure Of Looking At It, Without The Intention Or Power Of Healing It.