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“happy are women that can weep, and in a passionate caress disburthen the oppression of their feelings; shame and habitual restraint hold back a man.”
― Mary Shelley, The Last Man by Mary Shelley:With Original illustration

“Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph, ‘No,’ said he, ‘I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing to commit myself to evil.’
‘I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,’ observed the visitant.
‘Because you disbelieve their efficacy!’ Markheim cried.
‘I do not say so,’ returned the other, ‘but I look on these things from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in q course of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add but one act of service- to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept my help.”
― Robert Louis Stevenson, Markheim

“In my view, the biggest challenge for the
writer, within Nigeria or outside it, is to write about the place in a balanced way. What you want to do is take that anger, that fury, that
observation of the suffering of the people, and let it form into something creative within you.

The greatest risk I see is that the fury
might obscure another important part of the story: that Nigeria is livable, that people live well in Nigeria, and in some ways it isn’t all
that different from living anywhere else.”
― Teju Cole, Eight Letters to a Young Writer

“I came out, my morals unimproved, my hatred to my oppressors encreased tenfold. Bread and water did not tame my blood, nor solitary confinement inspire me with gentle thoughts. I was angry, impatient, miserable; my only happy hours were those during which I devised schemes of revenge...years passed on; and years only added fresh love of freedom, and contempt for all that was not as wild and rude as myself.”
― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, The Last Man