...but My Friends Call Me Edmund Dantes.

Your Life Story Is A Novel; And People, Though They Love Novels Wound Between Two Yellow Paper Covers, Are Oddly Suspicious Of Those Which Come To Them In Living Vellum.

Does The Open Wound In Another's Breast Soften The Pain Of The Gaping Wound In Our Own? Or Does The Blood Which Is Welling From Another Man's Side Staunch That Which Is Pouring From Our Own? Does The General Anguish Of Our Fellow Creatures Lessen Our Own Private And Particular Anguish? No, No, Each Suffers On His Own Account, Each Struggles With His Own Grief, Each Sheds His Own Tears.

All For One, One For All, That Is Our Device.

It Is The Infirmity Of Our Nature Always To Believe Ourselves Much More Unhappy Than Those Who Groan By Our Sides!

Truly Generous Men Are Always Ready To Become Sympathetic When Their Enemy’s Misfortune Surpasses The Limits Of Their Hatred.