“My vocation to preach on paper.”

Praise is sunshine; it warms, it inspires, it promotes growth; blame and rebuke are rain and hail; they beat down and bedraggle, even though they may at times be necessary.

The greater the interest involved in a truth the more careful, self-distrustful, and patient should be the inquiry.

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

We should remember in our dealings with animals that they are a sacred trust to us from our Heavenly Father. They are dumb and cannot speak for themselves.

Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

It is one mark of a superior mind to understand and be influenced by the superiority of others.

It is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best regulated administration of slavery.

If we let our friend become cold and selfish and exacting without a remonstrance, we are no true lover, no true friend.

Eyes that have never wept cannot comprehend sorrow.

If I am to write, I must have a room to myself, which shall be my room.

Your little child is the only true democrat.

True love ennobles and dignifies the material labors of life; and homely services rendered for love’s sake have in them a poetry that is immortal.

The world has been busy for some centuries in shutting and locking every door through which a woman could step into wealth, except the door of marriage.

In the gates of eternity the black hand and the white hand hold each other with equal clasp.

I make no manner of doubt that you threw a very diamond of truth at me, though you see it hit me so directly in the face that it wasn’t exactly appreciated, at first.

The heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.

In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.

My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That’s heaven. That’s gold, and anything else is just a waste of time.

It’s a very excruciating life facing that blank piece of paper every day and having to reach up somewhere into the clouds and bring something down out of them.

On paper I have killed you a thousand times but my heart disregards clever words.

Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper.

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

Our freedom lays deeper than your laws will ever cut into paper…For my words and rights are more than lines.

Writing saved my life when it all became too much. I poured my pain out into poetry I let the paper absorb everything i’d been holding on for years.