My Father Was Not Scientific, And I

It Would Be An Endless Task To Trace The Variety Of Meannesses, Cares, And Sorrows Into Which Women Are Plunged By The Prevailing Opinion That They Were Created Rather To Feel Than Reason.

I Am Alone And Miserable. Only Someone As Ugly As I Am Could Love Me.

And Now, Once Again, I Bid My Hideous Progeny Go Forth And Prosper. I Have An Affection For It, For It Was The Offspring Of Happy Days, When Death And Grief Were But Words, Which Found No True Echo In My Heart.

But Soon, I Shall Die, And What I Now Feel Be No Longer Felt. Soon These Burning Miseries Will Be Extinct.

Supremely Frightful Would Be The Effect Of Any Human Endeavor To Mock The Stupendous Mechanism Of The Creator Of The World.