How little I knew of the daily, almost hourly, changes of feeling,—of the despondency, the despair, that would come, I knew not why, directly upon my most earnest resolves, my hardest struggles,—of the weakness that would make me at times give up all struggling as useless,—of the mad hope that would sometimes arise that something, some outward change, I did not dare to say what, would bring me some relief!
— from The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 76, February, 1864 A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics by Various