Woman, the love-seeker, obsessing and possessing, fragile and fierce, soft and venomous, prouder than Lucifer and as prideless, holds a perpetual, almost morbid, attraction for the thinker.

What is this flame of her, blazing through all her contradictions and ignobilities ?--this ruthless passion for life, always for life, more life on the planet?
At times it seems to me brazen, and awful, and soulless.

At times I am made petulant by it.

And at other times I am swayed by the sublimity of it.

No; there is no escape from woman.