Date: 1794

"She hastily put the papers from her; but the words, which had roused equally her curiosity and terror, she could not dismiss from her thoughts. So powerfully had they affected her, that she even could not resolve to destroy the papers immediately; and the more she dwelt on the circumstance, the ...

— Radcliffe [née Ward], Ann (1764-1823)

Date: 1794

"Hers was a silent anguish, weeping, yet enduring; not the wild energy of passion, inflaming imagination, bearing down the barriers of reason and living in a world of its own."

— Radcliffe [née Ward], Ann (1764-1823)

Date: 1797

"His pride was as noble and generous as that of the Marchese; but he had somewhat of the fiery passions of the Marchesa, without any of her craft, her duplicity, or vindictive thrift of revenge."

— Radcliffe [née Ward], Ann (1764-1823)

Date: 1797

"Is one spark of the fire, which has so long smouldered within my bosom, and consumed my peace, alive!"

— Radcliffe [née Ward], Ann (1764-1823)

Date: 1797

"Mortified, exasperated by her conduct, I begun to suspect that some other emotion than resentment occasioned this disdain; and last of all jealousy--jealousy came to crown my misery--to light up all my passions into madness!"

— Radcliffe [née Ward], Ann (1764-1823)

Date: 1798

"A thousand images of this sort were present to her burning imagination."

— Godwin, William (1756-1836)

Date: 1806

"Thy pure flame / Would light the sense opake, and warm the spring / Of boundless ecstacy; while nature's laws / So violated, plead, immortal-tongu'd, / For her dark-fated children; lead them forth / From bondage infamous!"

— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)

Date: 1797, 1806

"Nor when the bosom's wasted fires / Are all extinct, is anguish o'er; / For jealousy, which ne'er expires, / Can wound--when passion is no more."

— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)

Date: 1812

Fancy may be kindled

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1820

"Thou think'st we will live through thee, one by one, / Like animal life, and though we can obscure not / The soul which burns within, that we will dwell / Beside it, like a vain loud multitude / Vexing the self-content of wisest men."

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)