Darkest of all Decembers ever has my life known, Sitting here by the embers, stunned, helpless, alone.

I will laugh at the laughable while I breathe

A freshet in the autumn does not compensate for a drought in the spring.

I do not write often now - not for want of something to say, but from a loathing of all I see and hear. Why dwell upon it?

To think there are men who dare so defile a church, a sacred sanctuary dedicated to God. We have to hold up our skirts and walk tiptoe, so covered is the floor, the aisle and pews, with the dark shower of tobacco juice.

There is no slave, after all, like a wife...Poor women, poor slaves All married women, all children and girls who live in their father's house are slaves.

The weight that hangs upon our eyelids - is of lead.