The world may know my words, but it has no such privileges with my heart

Time, time will heal the wound.

Time will explain.

A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been a constant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other.

A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.

In a letter from Bath to her sister, Cassandra, one senses her frustration at her sheltered existence, Tuesday, 12 May 1801. Another stupid party . . . with six people to look on, and talk nonsense to each other.

It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was not part of her disposition.