No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.
No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.
I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.
I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
For life be, after all, only a waitin’ for somethin’ else than what we’re doin’; and death be all that we can rightly depend on.
Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But there are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men’s eyes, because they know – or think they know – some things which other men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain.