The Modern Masters Promise Very Little

I Leave A Sad And Bitter World; And If You Remember Me, And Think Of Me As Of One Unjustly Condemned, I Am Resigned To The Fate Awaiting Me.

The Careful Rearer Of The Ductile Human Plant Can Instil His Own Religion, And Surround The Soul By Such A Moral Atmosphere, As Shall Become To Its Latest Day The Air It Breathes.

It Would Be An Endless Task To Trace The Variety Of Meannesses, Cares, And Sorrows Into Which Women Are Plunged By The Prevailing Opinion That They Were Created Rather To Feel Than Reason.

The Whole Series Of My Life Appeared To Me As A Dream; I Sometimes Doubted If Indeed It Were All True, For It Never Presented Itself To My Mind With The Force Of Reality.

Sorrow Only Increased With Knowledge.