I Could Write Stories Just

Death, Only, Renders Hope Futile.

I Presume That It Is The Better Part Of Wisdom That We Bow To Our Fate With As Good Grace As Possible.

Anger And Hate Against One We Love Steels Our Hearts, But Contempt Or Pity Leaves Us Silent And Ashamed.

Clothes Therefore, Must Be The Insignia Of The Superiority Of Man Over All Other Animals, For Surely There Could Be No Other Reason For Wearing The Hideous Things

This Was Life! Ah, How He Loved It! Civilization Held Nothing Like This In Its Narrow And Circumscribed Sphere, Hemmed In By Restrictions And Conventionalities. Even Clothes Were A Hindrance And A Nuisance. At Last He Was Free. He Had Not Realized What A Prisoner He Had Been.