Tis Because We Be On A Blighted

She Was Of The Stuff Of Which Great Men's Mothers Are Made. She Was Indispensable To High Generation, Hated At Tea Parties, Feared In Shops, And Loved At Crises.

Because What's The Use Of Learning That I Am One Of A Long Row Only - Finding Out That There Is Set Down In Some Old Book Somebody Just Like Me, And To Know That I Shall Only Act Her Part; Making Me Sad, That's All. The Best Is Not To Remember Your Nature And Your Past Doings Have Been Just Like Thousands' And Thousands', And That Your Coming Life And Doings'll Be Like Thousands' And Thousands'.

Tis Because We Be On A Blighted Star, And Not A Sound One, Isn't It Tess?

The Beggarly Question Of Parentage--what Is It, After All? What Does It Matter, When You Come To Think Of It, Whether A Child Is Yours By Blood Or Not? All The Little Ones Of Our Time Are Collectively The Children Of Us Adults Of The Time, And Entitled To Our General Care. That Excessive Regard Of Parents For Their Own Children, And Their Dislike Of Other People's, Is, Like Class-feeling, Patriotism, Save-your-own-soul-ism, And Other Virtues, A Mean Exclusiveness At Bottom.

We Colour And Mould According To The Wants Within Us Whatever Our Eyes Bring In.