She whispered to me the story of Bluebeard and His Seven Wives and I ceased to see the porch, the sunshine, her face, everything. As her words fell upon my new ears, I endowed them with a reality that welled up from somewhere within me. (1.2.23)
The tremendous upheaval that my words had caused made me know that there lay back of them much more than I could figure out, and I resolved that in the future I would learn the meaning of why they had beat and denounced me. (1.2.94)
"Did you really write that story?" they asked me.
"Because I wanted to."
"Where did you get it from?"
"I made it up."
"You didn’t. You copied it out of a book." (1.7.85)