The mad Divineress had plainly writ, A time shou'd come (but many ages yet,) In which, sinister destinies ordain

There is an hour or two, after the passengers have embarked, which is disquieting and fussy. Mail bags, so I understand, are being put on board. Stewards, carrying cabin trunks, swarm in the corridors. Passengers wander restlessly about or hurry, with futile energy, from place to place.

They were not only opinionative, peevish, covetous, morose, vain, talkative, but incapable of friendship, and dead to all natural affection.

To have altered my life would have been to have admitted that Uranian love is ignoble. I hold it to be noble – more noble than other forms.