Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

'...according to my observation of life, no woman, unless she be a freak, thinks with freedom.'

Again, like all women who have never known what it is to fall in love, she was sensible of a persistent yearning for something wholly undefined. There was nothing that she actually lacked, yet she seemed to lack everything.

'Time either flies like a bird or crawls like a snail.'

'Self surrender, you think, is an easy thing?'

'... seek the arms of Morpheus.'

'But you have brought me yourself,' she rejoined. 'And that is the best bringing of all.'

'... Yet a man will still become depressed, and yearn for company, even though he may curse it when he has got it.'

'Of course; but while the significant, and even the pseudo-significant -yes, the absolutely insignificant as well, -may be bearable, it is trifles, trifles that matter.'

 ... or surrender herself to the influence of that perfect restfulness which, known, probably, to everyone, comes of a silent, half-conscious contemplation of the great waves of life as they break for ever around and against us.

The man who has not seen such tears in the eyes of his beloved does not know the height of happiness to which, mingled with joy and gratitude and modesty, a woman can attain.

'I have tarried overlong in a sphere which is alien to my personality.'