It Has Been Strange To Me To

In Virgil's Account Of The Good Housewife, Who Rises Early In Order To Measure Out The Work Of The Household, And In Solomon's Description Of The Thrifty Woman Of His Time, One Sees The Value Set Upon Feminine Industry And Economy In Times Far Removed From Our Own.

Boston Is An Oasis In The Desert, A Place Where The Larger Proportion Of People Are Loving, Rational And Happy.

We Will Not Have Great Questions Decided By Irrelevant Agencies, Our Husbands Will Not Come To Us, Reeking With Carnage, For Caresses And Applause. Our Sons Shall Not Be Taken From Us To Unlearn All That We Have Been Able To Teach Them Of Charity, Mercy, And Patience. We, The Women Of One Country, Will Be Too Tender Of Those Of Another Country To Allow Our Sons To Be Trained To Injure Theirs.

Every Fallen Woman Represents A Man As Guilty As Herself, Who Escapes Human Detection, But Whose Soul Lies Open Before God.

When I Behold The Passion For Ornamentation, And The Corresponding Power, I Feel As If Women Had So Far Shown What They Are Bad For, Rather Than What They Are Good For.