Autobiography of a Female Slave

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Page 329 - Merciful heaven! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
Page 220 - Fashion'd so slenderly, Young and so fair! 'Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, — Decently, kindly, Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity. As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest — • Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving,...
Page 182 - But whoso shall offend one of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.
Page 326 - Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Page 275 - Pleased as we are with the possession, we seem afraid to look back to the means by which it was acquired, as if fearful of some defect in our title ; or at...
Page 199 - They rather choose to bear those ills they have Than fly to others that they know not of.
Page 271 - Already in our society there is a favored class who need take no thought for the morrow— what they shall eat, or what they shall drink, or wherewithal they shall be clothed.
Page 390 - ... before killing himself to escape slavery. Of this note she writes: . . . Lying beside me now, dear, sympathetic reader, is that note — his last brief words. Before writing this chapter [which is called "The Crisis of Existence — A Dreadful Page in Life"] I read it over. Old, soiled and worn it is ; but by his trembling fingers those blotted and irregular lines were penned ; and to me they are precious, though they awaken ten thousand bitter emotions ! I look at the note but once a year, and...
Page 75 - O ye people, ye people, I would have gathered you together as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, but ye would not ; 0 had you minded the things which belong to your peace, but now they are for ever hid from your eyes.
Page 400 - Thrice is he armed who has his quarrel just ; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, "Whose conscience by injustice is corrupted.

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