An Old Woman ... Is A Person

How Truly Does This Journal Contain My Real And Undisguised Thoughts--i Always Write It According To The Humour I Am In, And If Astranger Was To Think It Worth Reading, How Capricious--insolent & Whimsical I Must Appear!--one Moment Flighty And Half Mad,--the Next Sad And Melancholy. No Matter! Its Truth And Simplicity Are Its Sole Recommendations.

I Never Pretend To Be So Superior A Being As To Be Above Having And Indulging A Hobby Horse [her Journal Writing], And While I Keep Mine Within Due Bounds And Limits, Nobody, I Flatter Myself, Would Wish To Deprive Me Of The Poor Animal: To Be Sure, He Is Not Formed For Labour, And Is Rather Lame And Weak, But Then The Dear Creature Is Faithful, Constant, And Loving, And Though He Sometimes Prances, Would Not Kick Anyone Into The Mire, Or Hurt A Single Soul For The World--and I Would Not Part With Him For One Who Could Win The Greatest Prize That Ever Was Won At Any Races.

Insensibility, Of All Kinds, And On All Occasions, Most Moves My Imperial Displeasure

Can Any Thing, My Good Sir, Be More Painful To A Friendly Mind Than A Necessity Of Communicating Disagreeable Intelligence? Indeed, It Is Sometimes Difficult To Determine, Whether The Relater Or The Receiver Of Evil Tidings Is Most To Be Pitied.

There's No Nation Under The Sun Can Beat The English For Ill-politeness: For My Part, I Hate The Very Sight Of Them; And So I Shall Only Just Visit A Person Of Quality Or Two Of My Particular Acquaintance, And Then I Shall Go Back Again To France.