Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than

Women Are Attracted To Silent Men. They Believe They Are Listening.

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

You Are Joseph The Dreamer Of Dreams, Dear Jude. And A Tragic Don Quixote. And Sometimes You Are St. Stephen, Who, While They Were Stoning Him, Could See Heaven Opened. Oh, My Poor Friend And Comrade, You'll Suffer Yet!

Never In Her Life – She Could Swear It From The Bottom Of Her Soul – Had She Ever Intended To Do Wrong; Yet These Hard Judgments Had Come. Whatever Her Sins, They Were Not Sins Of Intention, But Of Inadvertence, And Why Should She Have Been Punished So Persistently?

...she Moved About In A Mental Cloud Of Many-coloured Idealities, Which Eclipsed All Sinister Contingencies By Its Brightness.