“If I could write a story that would do for the Indian one-hundredth part what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of my life.”
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By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.