“I will walk where my own nature would be leading.”

A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

We must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.

Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!

Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.

I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.

Worthless as wither’d weeds.

You know, I’ve had a bitter, hard life since I last heard your voice and if I’ve survived it’s all because of you.

There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!

If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.

Honest people don’t hide their deeds.

Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.

I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.