Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world.

But stories somehow lengthen when begun.

A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant.

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!