John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.

To them the country was a unit – it was theirs. They themselves were a unit, a conscious group; they thought in terms of the community. As such, their time-sense was not limited to the hopes and ambitions of an individual life. Therefore, they habitually considered and carried out plans for improvement which might cover centuries.

“What is a ‘wife’ exactly?” she demanded, a dangerous gleam in her eye. “A wife is the woman who belongs to a man,” he began.

On the other hand, what they lacked in experience, they made up for in genius. Such subtle understanding, such instant recognition of our difficulties, and readiness to meet them, were a constant surprise to us.

They were inconveniently reasonable, those women.

This led me very promptly to the conviction that those “feminine charms” we are so fond of are not feminine at all, but mere reflected masculinity – developed to please us because they had to please us, and in no way essential to the real fulfillment of their great process.

There you have it. You see, they were Mothers, not in our sense of helpless involuntary fecundity, forced to fill and overfill the land, every land, and then see their children suffer, sin, and die, fighting horribly with one another; but in the sense of Conscious Makers of People. Mother-love with them was not a brute passion, a mere “instinct,” a

“No stimulus to industry,” they repeated, with that puzzled look we had learned to know so well. “Stimulus? To industry? But don’t you like to work?” “No man would work unless he had to,” Terry declared. “Oh, no man! You mean that is one of your sex distinctions?” “No, indeed!” he said hastily. “No one, I mean, man or woman, would work without ince

It is a very awkward thing, sometimes, to have a logical mind.