... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.

I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.

I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.

True revolutions in art restore more than they destroy.

Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?