The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom.

...she moved about in a mental cloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.

We ought to have lived in mental communion, and no more.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.

Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?

That man's silence is wonderful to listen to.

Sometimes I shrink from your knowing what I have felt for you, and sometimes I am distressed that all of it you will never know.