Of all our sorrows, memory is the worst.

Women--wives and mothers--are the same everywhere.

Richmond has fallen - and I have no heart to write about it... They are too many for us. Everything lost in Richmond, even our archives. Blue-black is our horizon.

Oh, if I could put some of my reckless spirit into these discreet cautious lazy men!

Peace, comfort, quiet, happiness, I have found away from home. Only your own family, those nearest and dearest, can hurt you.

Is the sea drying up? It is going up into mist and coming down on us in this water spout, the rain. It raineth every day, and the weather represents our tearful despair on a large scale.

Of all our sorrows, memory is the worst.