Rose Terry Cooke

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Rose Terry Cooke


Born
in West Hartford, Connecticut, The United States
February 17, 1827

Died
July 18, 1892

Genre


Rose Terry Cooke was an author and poet. She attended Hartford Female Seminary and published her first poem in the New York Daily Tribune in 1851. She also taught at a Presbyterian church in Burlington, New Jersey and worked as a governess for the family of clergyman William Van Rensselaer.

She married Rollin H. Cooke in 1873 and became known for humorous short stories.

Average rating: 3.65 · 178 ratings · 28 reviews · 75 distinct worksSimilar authors
My Visitation

3.94 avg rating — 18 ratings
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How Celia Changed Her Mind ...

by
3.33 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 1986 — 4 editions
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Huckleberries Gathered From...

3.33 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 1891 — 37 editions
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Little Foxes

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1904
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Happy Dodd: Or, "She Hath D...

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1878 — 8 editions
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The sphinx's children and o...

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 1 rating
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The Sphinx's children and o...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1886 — 23 editions
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Somebody's neighbors (The A...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1881 — 35 editions
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Poems

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings30 editions
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The Deacon's Week and What ...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1910 — 7 editions
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More books by Rose Terry Cooke…
Quotes by Rose Terry Cooke  (?)
Quotes are added by the Goodreads community and are not verified by Goodreads. (Learn more)

“[...] enamorándome con pasión de [...]

Utilizo ese término después de haberlo considerado: ningún otro expresaba la devoción ciega, irracional y duradera que le mostraba; no hay palabras menos vívidas para definir aquella locura.”
Rose Terry Cooke, My Visitation

“Y cuando se dejaba llevar por la pasión y me quemaba con sus palabras amargas, aguijoneándome para replicar por su injusticia, su crueldad, era yo quien se arrepentía, era yo quien se humillaba... era yo quien, con abundantes lágrimas, pedía perdón, suplicaba, rogaba, rezaba por obtenerlo; y si algún espasmo de conciencia la obligaba a excusarse, a decir que había hecho mal, la hacía callar con mi mano: no podía escucharla; la culpa era mía, solo mía. Estaba orgullosa de ser arcilla siempre que ella fuese reina y deidad.”
Rose Terry Cooke, My Visitation