Quotes About Independence

She was what she was. She did what she did. I didn't think she worried about the whys and wherefores too much, come to think of it.

Thinkst so little of me, Sir Poet, that I must srve the agenda of my mother or my Queen, and I have no passions of mine own?

Thinkst so little of me, Sir Poet, that I must serve the agenda of my mother or my Queen, and I have no passions of mine own?

I'd had a taste of living for myself, and I could not go back to living entirely for others again.

Muire really needed to stop taking in candle-flicker strays. She tried, Light knew: she held herself aloof, didn't place calls, avoided social engagements. Sh didn't take lovers. She didn't need friends. She especially didn't need friends who would inevitably break her heart with their fragility, their evanescence, the shadow-quick passing of their mortal lives.

I'm not dragging my tail through that." Primly, with a flip of his long, crossed primary feathers. "You wanted to go this way. We're going this way. And you can carry me.

If the petty rebellion makes you feel better, Casey, by all means, indulge yourself.

Olive had, of course, been born with a backbone, but she didn't exercise it very often.

If they should say you have no sense, don't you mind them; it won't make much difference. Lullaby.

We desert those who desert us; we cannot afford to suffer; we must live how we can

Are you really an orphan? Yes, I am, said Portia a shade shortly. Are you? No, not at present, but I suppose it's a thing one is bound to be.

Mr. St. Maur will help me make a most excellent match. Perhaps you should retain him as well." Minerva shook her head at the pair of them. "A man will have to fall out of the sky and into my bedroom before I marry him.

Right now I would welcome the most wicked baron who ever lived if he could save me from my aunt and her plans," Minerva declared.

Her mother had told her that when she was a girl. Whenever you're in trouble, just remember you're your own best friend.

She agreed with everything that was planned for her, and made her own arrangements later, for she had discovered that the easiest way through life was to set out obediently upon the appointed path and then slip away down a side turning.

Woman has relied heretofore too entirely for her support on the needle - that one-eyed demon of destruction that slays thousands annually; that evil genius of our sex, which, in spite of all our devotion, will never make us healthy, wealthy, or wise.

The best protection any woman can have... is courage.

When women understand that governments and religions are human inventions; that Bibles, prayer-books, catechisms, and encyclical letters are all emanations from the brains of man, they will no longer be oppressed by the injunctions that come to them with the divine authority of *Thus sayeth the Lord.*

It was just so in the American Revolution, in 1776, the first delicacy the men threw overboard in Boston harbor was the tea, woman's favorite beverage. The tobacco and whiskey, though heavily taxed, they clung to with the tenacity of the devil-fish.

To-day the woman is Mrs. Richard Roe, to-morrow Mrs. John Doe, and again Mrs. James Smith according as she changes masters, and she has so little self-respect that she does not see the insult of the custom.

Whatever the theories may be of woman's dependence on man, in the supreme moments of her life he can not bear her burdens. Alone she goes to the gates of death to give life to every man that is born into the world. No one can share her fears, no one can mitigate her pangs; and if her sorrow is greater than she can bear, alone she passes beyond the gates into the vast unknown.

He has usurped the prerogative of Jehovah himself, claiming it as his right to assign for her a sphere of action, when that belongs to her conscience and to her God. He has endeavored in every way that he could to destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life.

So it ever must be in the conflicting scenes of life, in the long, weary march, each one walks alone. We may have many friends, love, kindness, sympathy and charity, to smooth our pathway in everyday life, but in the tragedies and triumphs of human experience, each mortal stands alone.

How the little courtesies of life on the surface of society, deemed so important from man towards woman, fade into utter insignificance in view of the deeper tragedies in which she must play her part alone, where no human aid is possible.