I'm sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.

While we flatter ourselves that things remain the same, they are changing under our very eyes from year to year, from day to day.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.

This is the woman's century, the first chance for the mother of the world to rise to her full place . . . and the world waits while she powders her nose.

The labor of women in the house, certainly, enables men to produce more wealth than they otherwise could; and in this way women are economic factors in society. But so are horses.

Not woman, but the condition of woman, has always been a doorway of evil.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.