Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than

It Is Difficult For A Woman To Define Her Feelings In Language Which Is Chiefly Made By Men To Express Theirs.

The Beauty Or Ugliness Of A Character Lay Not Only In Its Achievements, But In Its Aims And Impulses; Its True History Lay, Not Among Things Done, But Among Things Willed.

This Hobble Of Being Alive Is Rather Serious, Don’t You Think So?

Of Course Poets Have Morals And Manners Of Their Own, And Custom Is No Argument With Them.

Meanwhile, The Trees Were Just As Green As Before; The Birds Sang And The Sun Shone As Clearly Now As Ever. The Familiar Surroundings Had Not Darkened Because Of Her Grief, Nor Sickened Because Of Her Pain. She Might Have Seen That What Had Bowed Her Head So Profoundly -the Thought Of The World's Concern At Her Situation- Was Found On An Illusion. She Was Not An Existence, An Experience, A Passion, A Structure Of Sensations, To Anybody But Herself.