“Some flowers give out little or no odour until crushed.”

Wherever I am, I see the yoke on women in some form or another. On some it sits easy for they are but beasts of burden.

On some it galls and chafes; they feel assured by every instinct of their nature that they were designed for a higher, nobler calling than to ‘drag life’s lengthening chain along.

[On her recently widowed father’s much younger wife:] My father has been very busy in conjugating the verb to love, and I assure you he declines its moods and tenses inimitably.

Is not sorrow, all sorrow, selfish?

On others pride hushes them to silence; no complaint is made for they scorn pity or sympathy.

Girls are taught to seem, to appear – not to be and do.

Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed.

Thousands of women are crushed and made inarticulate by that system and never develop as their natures would force them to develop were they in a decent environment.

He crushed them brutally. But his military could not protect him.