Think not I am what I appear.
No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman.
I learned to love despair.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims; I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.