Margaret Fuller

[wilcotree]

No human heart had her confidence, she says, but she took refuge in her journal, whose pages she burned when they had done their work.

“For years, to write there, instead of speaking, had enabled me to soothe myself; and the Spirit was often my friend, when I sought no other. Once
again, I am willing to take up the cross of loneliness. Resolves are idle, but the anguish of my soul has been deep.”

And suddenly this passionate cry: “Of a disposition that requires the most refined, the most exalted tenderness, without charms to inspire it—poor Mignon! fear not the transition through death; no penal fires can have in store worse torments than thou art familiar with already.”