I know that I am marvelously clever. But I have need of all my
peculiar genius to show you my individuality--my aloneness.
I am alone out on my sand and barrenness. I should be alone if my
sand and barrenness were crowded with a thousand people each filled
with melting sympathy for me--though it would be unspeakably sweet.
People say of me, “She’s peculiar.” They do not understand me. If
they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis.
And so I try to put my individuality in the quality of my diction,
in my method of handling words.
My conversation plainly shows this individuality--more than shows
it, indeed. My conversation hurls it violently at people’s heads.
My conversation--when I choose--makes people turn around in their
chairs and stare and give me all of their attention. They admire
me, though their admiration is mixed decidedly with other feelings.