I am she that men call Modesty. Virgin I am and ever shall be. Not for me the fruitful fields and the fertile vineyard. Increase is odious to me; and when the apples burgeon or the flocks breed, I run, I run, I let my mantle fall. My hair covers my eyes, I do not see. Spare, O spare!

“Even Orlando (who had no conceit of her person) knew it, for she smiled the inv…”

“Look, the unseen bade him, the voice which now communicated with him who was th…”

“The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.”

“When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless... B…”