At Fifteen, Neither Beauty Nor Talent Exist:

Poetry Is Only Born After Painful Journeys Into The Vast Regions Of Thought.

Does Not Any Limit Imposed Upon One Inspire A Desire To Go Beyond It? Does Not Our Keenest Suffering Arise When Our Free Will Is Crossed?

Like Evil, Sublimity Is Also Contagious.

At Fifteen, Neither Beauty Nor Talent Exist: A Woman Is All Promise.

When A Woman Starts Talking About Her Duty, Her Regard For Appearances, And Her Respect For Religion, She Raises So Many Bulwarks Which She Delights To See Captured By Storm.