I Am Not Romantic, You Know; I

An Agreeable Manner May Set Off Handsome Features, But Can Never Alter Plain Ones.

All The Privilege I Claim For My Own Sex ... Is That Of Loving Longest, When Existence Or Hope Is Gone.

I Have Been Meditating On The Very Great Pleasure Which A Pair Of Fine Eyes In The Face Of A Pretty Woman Can Bestow.

Pity Is For This Life, Pity Is The Worm Inside The Meat, Pity Is The Meat, Pity Is The Shaking Pencil, Pity Is The Shaking Voice-- Not Enough Money, Not Enough Love--pity For All Of Us--it Is Our Grace, Walking Down The Ramp Or On The Moving Sidewalk, Sitting In A Chair, Reading The Paper, Pity, Turning A Leaf To The Light, Arranging A Thorn.

I Can Easily Believe It. Women Of That Class Have Great Opportunities, And If They Are Intelligent May Be Well Worth Listening To. Such Varieites Of Human Nature As They Are In The Habit Of Witnessing! And It Is Not Merely In Its Follies, That They Are Read; For They See It Occasionally Under Every Circumstance That Can Be Most Interesting Or Affecting. What Instances Must Pass Before Them Of Ardent, Disinterested, Self-denying Attachment, Of Heroism, Fortitude, Patience, Resignation-- Of All The Sacrifices That Ennoble Us Most. A Sick Chamber May Often Furnish The Worth Of Volumes.