What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness, Anger, discontent and drooping hopes? Degenerate sons and daughters, Life is too strong for you — It tak… - Edgar Lee Masters

[...] Ma invece mi elevai un poco nella vita,
e lo devo a un libro che lessi.
Ma perché andai a Mason City
Dove mi accadde di vedere il libro in vetrina,
con la copertina sgargiante che mi allettò l’occhio?
E perché la mia anima rispose al libro
Via via che lo leggevo?

Margaret Fuller Slack I WOULD have been as great as George Eliot But for an untoward fate. For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, Chin resting on hand, and deep — set eyes — Gray, too, and far-searching. But there was the old, old problem: Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity? Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me, Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel, And I married him, giving birth to eight children, And had no time to write. It was all over with me, anyway, When I ran the needle in my hand While washing the baby’s things, And died from lock — jaw, an ironical death. Hear me, ambitious souls, Sex is the curse of life.

The truth was this: I did not have the brains.