A woman cannot do the thing she ought, which means whatever perfect thing she can, in life, in art, in science, but she fears to let the perfect action take her part and rest there: she must prove what she can do before she does it, -- prate of woman's rights, of woman's mission, woman's function, till the men (who are prating, too, on their side) cry, A woman's function plainly is... to talk. Poor souls, they are very reasonably vexed!

The world's male chivalry has perished out, but women are knights-errant to the last; and, if Cervantes had been greater still, he had made his Don a Donna.

Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

Of writing many books there is no end.

Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence; and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.

There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.