On The Wagon Sped, And I, As

All The Asylum Clothing Is Made By The Patients, But Sewing Does Not Employ One's Mind. After Several Months' Confinement The Thoughts Of The Busy World Grow Faint, And All The Poor Prisoners Can Do Is To Sit And Ponder Over Their Hopeless Fate

I Always Made A Point Of Telling The Doctors I Was Sane, And Asking To Be Released, But The More I Endeavored To Assure Them Of My Sanity, The More They Doubted It

How Can A Doctor Judge A Woman's Sanity By Merely Bidding Her Good Morning And Refusing To Hear Her Pleas For Release? Even The Sick Ones Know It Is Useless To Say Anything, For The Answer Will Be That It Is Their Imagination.

They Were Being Driven To A Prison, Through No Fault Of Their Own, In All Probability For Life. In Comparison, How Much Easier It Would Be To Walk To The Gallows Than To This Tomb Of Living Horrors!

I Had Never Been Near Insane Persons Before In My Life, And Had Not The Faintest Idea Of What Their Actions Were Like