All my being is agog for chances to shine and to be shared.

When they say in my presence of some young woman that, "she is not happy," a thrill of joy tears through me.
On Sundays, among the crowds, I have often felt my heart tighten with distress as I watch the unknown women.

Reverie has often held me all day because of one who has gone by and disappeared, leaving me a clear vision of her curtained room, and of herself, vibrating like a harp.
She, perhaps, was the one I should have always loved; she whom I seek gropingly, desperately, from each to the next.

Ah, what a delightful thing to see and to think of a distant woman always is, whoever she may be! There are moments when I suffer, and am to be pitied.

Assuredly, if one could read me really, no one would pity me.