Women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they’ve got ambition, and they’ve got talent, as well as just beauty. I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for.
I’d rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe.
I can’t say “Yes” truly so I won’t say it at all. You’ll see that I’m right, eventually, and you’ll thank me for it.
You’ll find some lovely accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make a fine mistress for your fine house. I wouldn’t. I’m homely and awkward and odd and you’d be ashamed of me and we would quarrel – we can’t help it even now! – I’d hate elegant society and you’d hate my scribbling and we would be unhappy and wish we hadn’t done it and everything will be horrid.
Nothing more — except that… I don’t believe I will ever marry. I’m happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up.
Don’t go quietly, fight! Please fight to the end, be LOUD! Don’t just quietly go away!
I can’t get over my disappointment at being a girl.
What is wrong with me? I’ve made so many resolutions and written sad notes and cried over my sins, but it just doesn’t seem to help. When I get in a passion I get so savage I could hurt anyone and I’d enjoy it.
I suppose marriage has always been an economic proposition. Even in fiction.
And I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. I’m so sick of it. But I’m so lonely…
Well my sister Amy is in Paris, and until she marries someone obscenely wealthy, it’s up to me to keep the family afloat. Goodbye.
She writes that Laurie is there… I’m glad he’s with her, he won’t respond to any of my letters.
If I were a girl in a book this would all be so easy.
I can’t say “yes” truly, so I’m not going to say it at all.
No one will forget Jo March.
