It Was Not Despair, But It Seemed

The Mother-women Seemed To Prevail That Summer At Grand Isle. It Was Easy To Know Them, Fluttering About With Extended, Protecting Wings When Any Harm, Real Or Imaginary, Threatened Their Precious Brood. They Were Women Who Idolized Their Children, Worshiped Their Husbands, And Esteemed It A Holy Privilege To Efface Themselves As Individuals And Grow Wings As Ministering Angels.

There Would Be No One There To Live For Her During Those Coming Years; She Would Live For Herself. There Would Be No Powerful Will Bending Hers In That Blind Persistance With Which Men And Women Believe They Have A Right To Impose A Private Will Upon A Fellow-creature. A Kind Intention Or A Cruel Intention Made The Act Seem No Less A Crime As She Looked Upon It In That Brief Moment Of Illumination.

The Generous Abundance Of Her Passion, Without Guile Or Trickery, Was Like A White Flame Which Penetrated And Found Response In Depths Of His Own Sensuous Nature That Had Never Yet Been Reached.

I Dance With People I Despise; Amuse Myself With Men Whose Only Talent Lies In Their Feet, Gain The Disapprobation Of People I Honor And Respect; Return Home At Day Break With My Brain In A State Which Was Never Intended For It; And Arise In The Middle Of The Next Day Feeling Infinitely More, In Spirit And Flesh Like A Liliputian, Than A Woman With Body And Soul. Entry (when She Was Eighteen) In Her Commonplace Book, 1868-1869.

I Would Give Up My Life For My Children, But Not Myself.