“I took the red dress down and put it against myself. 'Does it make me look intemperate and unchaste?' I said.”

“Your red dress,’ she said, and laughed.But I looked at the dress on the floor and it was as if the fire had spread across the room. It was beautiful and it reminded me of something I must do. I will remember I thought. I will remember quite soon now.”

“Justice," she said. " I've heard that word. It's a cold world. I tried it out," she said, still speaking in that low voice. "I wrote it down. I wrote it down several times and always it looked like a damn cold lie to me. There is no justice.”

“My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I shall never be, looking-glasses I look nice in, looking-glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.”

“I have tried," I said, "but he does not believe me. It is too late for that now" (it is always too late for truth, I thought).”

“...I know all about myself now, I know. You've told me so often. You haven't left me one rag of illusion to clothe myself in.”

“I will write my name in fire red.”