Zane Grey

Instantly a thick blackness seemed to enfold her and silence as of a dead world settled down upon her. Drowsy as she was she could not close her eyes nor refrain from listening. Darkness and silence were tangible things. She felt them. And they seemed suddenly potent with magic charm to still the tumult of her, to sooth and rest, to create thought she had never thought before. Rest was more than selfish indulgence. Loneliness was necessary to gain conciseness of the soul.

Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.

I need this wild life, this freedom.

Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.

I arise full of eagerness and energy, knowing well what achievement lies ahead of me.

When I envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worth coveting.

Jealousy is an unjust and stifling thing.

What is writing but an expression of my own life?

Pride would never be her ally.

The narrator finds that as a maturing character grows in stature before her friends that she sees less stature while evaluating herself.