"The facts of another's life do not illumine. Only when we know the heart can we know that life. Only the feeling that made the days can light them."

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While feeling far less injured by toil than my friends took for granted I must be, I yet was always aware of the strong probability that my life would end as the lives of hard literary workers usually end, - in paralysis, with months or years of imbecility.

— Harriet Martineau