A Fixed Idea Ends In Madness Or

A Creditor Is Worse Than A Slave-owner; For The Master Owns Only Your Person, But A Creditor Owns Your Dignity, And Can Command It.

The Production Of Souls Is The Secret Of Unfathomable Depth.

It Is Often Necessary To Know How To Obey A Woman In Order Sometimes To Have The Right To Command Her.

If Nobody Loved, The Sun Would Go Out.

Such Is The Remorseless Progression Of Human Society, Shedding Lives And Souls As It Goes On Its Way. It Is An Ocean Into Which Men Sink Who Have Been Cast Out By The Law And Consigned, With Help Most Cruelly Withheld, To Moral Death. The Sea Is The Pitiless Social Darkness Into Which The Penal System Casts Those It Has Condemned, An Unfathomable Waste Of Misery. The Human Soul, Lost In Those Depths, May Become A Corpse. Who Shall Revive It?