Once she knows how to read there's only one thing you can teach her to believe in and that is herself.

I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

Publicity in women is detestable. Anonymity runs in their blood. The desire to be veiled still possesses them. They are not even now as concerned about the health of their fame as men are, and, speaking generally, will pass a tombstone or a signpost without feeling an irresistible desire to cut their names on it.

The immense success of our life is, I think, that our treasure is hid away; or rather in such common things that nothing can touch it.

Speech is an old torn net, through which the fish escape as one casts it over them.

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.