(...) The Tree Forsakes Not

Starvation!" Exclaimed The Abbe, Springing From His Seat. "why, The Vilest Animals Are Not Suffered To Die By Such A Death As That. The Very Dogs That Wander Houseless And Homeless In The Streets Find Some Pitying Hand To Cast Them A Mouthful Of Bread; And That A Man, A Christian, Should Be Allowed To Perish Of Hunger In The Midst Of Other Men Who Call Themselves Christians, Is Too Horrible For Belief. Oh, It Is Impossible - Utterly Impossible!

I Hate This Life Of The Fashionable World, Always Ordered, Measured, Ruled, Like Our Music-paper. What I Have Always Wished For, Desired, And Coveted, Is The Life Of An Artist, Free And Independent, Relying Only On My Own Resources, And Accountable Only To Myself.

Life Is A Storm, My Young Friend. You Will Bask In The Sunlight One Moment, Be Shattered On The Rocks The Next. What Makes You A Man Is What You Do When That Storm Comes.

If God Were Suddenly Condemned To Live The Life Which He Has Inflicted Upon Men, He Would Kill Himself.

I Have No Will, Unless It Be The Will Never To Decide. I Have Been So Overwhelmed By The Many Storms That Have Broken Over My Head, That I Am Become Passive In The Hands Of The Almighty, Like A Sparrow In The Talons Of An Eagle. I Live, Because It Is Not Ordained For Me To Die.