He Is My First Olive: Let Me

The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible? Or, In The Triumph Of The Crowded Procession, Have The Helpless Been Trampled On, Instead Of Being Gently Lifted Aside Out Of The Roadway Of The Conqueror, Whom They Have No Power To Accompany On His March?

What Could He Mean By Speaking So, As If I Were Always Thinking That He Cared For Me, When I Know He Does Not; He Cannot. ... But I Won't Care For Him. I Surely Am Mistress Enough Of Myself To Control This Wild, Strange, Miserable Feeling

There Is Nothing Like Wounded Affection For Giving Poignancy To Anger.

Blot Your Misdeeds Out (if You Are Particularly Conscientious), By A Good Deed, As Soon As You Can; Just As We Did A Correct Sum At School On The Slate, Where An Incorrect One Was Only Half Rubbed Out. It Was Better Than Wetting Our Sponge With Our Tears; Both Less Loss Of Time Where Tears Had To Be Waited For, And A Better Effect At Last.

One Word More. You Look As If You Thought It Tainted You To Be Loved By Me. You Cannot Avoid It. Nay, I, If I Would, Cannot Cleanse You From It. But I Would Not, If I Could. I Have Never Loved Any Woman Before: My Life Has Been Too Busy, My Thoughts Too Much Absorbed With Other Things. Now I Love, And Will Love. But Do Not Be Afraid Of Too Much Expression On My Part.