...it Strikes Me With Terror And Anguish

Everyone Else Is Just Cocktails.

If There Are Words And Wrongs Like Knives, Whose Deep Inflicted Lacerations Never Heal - Cutting Injuries And Insults Of Serrated And Poison-dripping Edge - So, Too, There Are Consolations Of Tone Too Fine For The Ear Not Fondly And For Ever To Retain Their Echo: Caressing Kindnesses - Loved, Lingered Over Through A Whole Life, Recalled With Unfaded Tenderness, And Answering The Call With Undimmed Shine, Out Of That Raven Cloud Foreshadowing Death Himself.

I Have For The First Time Found What I Can Truly Love–i Have Found You. You Are My Sympathy–my Better Self–my Good Angel–i Am Bound To You With A Strong Attachment. I Think You Good, Gifted, Lovely: A Fervent, A Solemn Passion Is Conceived In My Heart; It Leans To You, Draws You To My Centre And Spring Of Life, Wrap My Existence About You–and, Kindling In Pure, Powerful Flame, Fuses You And Me In One.

And With That Answer, He Left Me. I Would Much Rather He Had Knocked Me Down.

I Doubt If I Have Made The Best Use Of All My Calamities. Soft, Amiable Natures They Would Have Refined To Saintliness; Of Strong, Evil Spirits They Would Have Made Demons; As For Me, I Have Only Been A Woe-struck And Selfish Woman.