I Love Humanity But I Hate People.

The Only People I Really Hate Are Servants. They're Not Really Human Beings At All.

We Were So Wholly One I Had Not Thought That We Could Die Apart. I Had Not Thought That I Could Move,—and You Be Stiff And Still! That I Could Speak,—and You Perforce Be Dumb! I Think Our Heart-strings Were, Like Warp And Woof In Some Firm Fabric, Woven In And Out; Your Golden Filaments In Fair Design Across My Duller Fibre.

A Person Who Publishes A Book Appears Willfully In Public Eye With His Pants Down.

And What Are You That, Missing You, I Should Be Kept Awake As Many Nights As There Are Days With Weeping For Your Sake? And What Are You That, Missing You, As Many Days As Crawl I Should Be Listening To The Wind And Looking At The Wall? I Know A Man That’s A Braver Man And Twenty Men As Kind, And What Are You, That You Should Be The One Man In My Mind? Yet Women’s Ways Are Witless Ways, As Any Sage Will Tell,— And What Am I, That I Should Love So Wisely And So Well?

This Book, When I Am Dead, Will Be A Little Faint Perfume Of Me. People Who Knew Me Well Will Say, She Really Used To Think That Way.