This Englishwoman Is So Refined, She Has

One Never Knows Really How Things Are With Other People, They Just Do Always Seem More Spirited Than Oneself Somehow.

Unpopular, Lonely And Loving, Elinor Need Not Trouble, For If She Were Not So Loving, She Would Not Be So Miserable.

Cry Pretty, Pretty, Pretty And You'll Be Able Very Soon Not Even To Cry Pretty And So Be Delivered Entirely From Humanity This Is Prettiest Of All, It Is Very Pretty.

There Are Moments Of Despair That Come Sometimes, When Night Sets In And A White Fog Presses Against The Windows. Then Our House Changes Its Shape, Rears Up And Becomes A Place Of Despair. Then Fear And Rage Run Simply--and The Thought Of Death As A Friend. This Is The Simplest Of Thoughts, That Death Must Come When We Call, Although He Is A God.

Marriage I Think For Women Is The Best Of Opiates. It Kills The Thoughts That Think About The Thoughts, It Is The Best Of Opiates. So Said Maria. But Too Long In Solitude She'd Dwelt, And Too Long Her Thoughts Had Felt Their Strength. So When The Man Drew Near, Out Popped Her Thoughts And Covered Him With Fear. Poor Maria! Better That She Had Kept Her Thoughts On A Chain, For Now She's Alone Again And All In Pain; She Sighs For The Man That Went And The Thoughts That Stay To Trouble Her Dreams By Night And Her Dreams By Day.