Whichever way I turn, whatever phase of social life presents itself, the same conviction comes: Independent bread alone can redeem woman from her curse of subjection to man.

It's too bad that our bodies wear out while our interests are just as strong as ever.

I will cut off this right arm of mine before I will ever work or demand the ballot for the Negro and not the woman.

Women, we might as well be dogs baying the moon as petitioners without the right to vote!

No self respecting woman should wish or work for the success of a party that ignores her sex.

Those of you who have the talent to do honor to poor womanhood, have all given yourself over to baby-making. . .

Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.