As I grow old I hate the writing of letters more and more, and like getting them better and better.
I worship you, but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise and the thought of you interfering with my work, hindering me; what would you answer?
Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.
Here was a woman about the year 1800 writing without hate, without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching. That was how Shakespeare wrote, I thought, looking at Antony and Cleopatra; and when people compare Shakespeare and Jane Austen, they may mean that the minds of both had consumed all impediments; and for that reason we do not know Jane Austen and we do not know Shakespeare, and for that reason Jane Austen pervades every word that she wrote, and so does Shakespeare.
Peace was the third emotion. Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotions made the ply of human life.
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