Your Will Shall Decide Your

I Can But Die... And I Believe In God. Let Me Try And Wait His Will In Silence.

Better To Be Without Logic Than Without Feeling.

That A Greater Fool Than Jane Eyre Had Never Breathed The Breath Of Life; That A More Fantastic Idiot Had Never Surfeited Herself On Sweet Lies, And Swallowed Poison As If It Were Nectar.

In Sunshine, In Prosperity, The Flowers Are Very Well; But How Many Wet Days Are There In Life—november Seasons Of Disaster, When A Man's Hearth And Home Would Be Cold Indeed, Without The Clear, Cheering Gleam Of Intellect.

Poverty, For Me, Is Synonymous With Degradation.