I Have An Object, A

To Be Made Evident, Truth Must Be Sought For; For Of Itself It Is Slow To Appear, And Between Ourselves And God The Obstacles Are So Many!

Admiration And Familiarity Are Strangers.

Once My Heart Was Captured, Reason Was Shown The Door, Deliberately And With A Sort Of Frantic Joy. I Accepted Everything, I Believed Everything, Without Struggle, Without Suffering, Without Regret, Without False Shame. How Can One Blush For What One Adores?

I Was Born To Love - But None Of You Wanted To Believe It, And That Misunderstanding Was Crucial In Forming My Character. It's True That Nature Was Strangely Inconsistent In Giving Me A Warm Heart, But Also A Face That Was Like A Stone Mask And A Tongue That Was Heavy And Slow. She Refused Me What She Bestowed Freely On Even The Most Loutish Of My Fellow Men. . . . People Judged My Inner Character By My Outer Covering, And Like A Sterile Fruit, I Withered Under The Rough Husk I Couldn't Slough Off.

Almost All Novels Are Love Stories.