I Only Know That It Was, And

I Was Always Treated As If I Had Insisted On Being Born, In Opposition To The Dictates Of Reason, Religion, And Morality, And Against The Dissuadinig Arguments Of My Best Friends.

At Last, In The Dead Of The Night, When The Street Was Very Still Indeed, Little Dorrit Laid The Heavy Head Upon Her Bosom, And Soothed Her To Sleep. And Thus She Sat At The Gate, As It Were Alone; Looking Up At The Stars, And Seeing The Clouds Pass Over Them In Their Wild Flight-which Was The Dance At Little Dorrit's Party.

Marley Was Dead, To Begin With. There Is No Doubt Whatever About That. The Register Of His Burial Was Signed By The Clergyman, The Clerk, The Undertaker, And The Chief Mourner. Scrooge Signed It. And Scrooge's Name Was Good Upon 'change For Anything He Chose To Put His Hand To. Old Marley Was As Dead As A Door-nail.

I Wish You To Know That You Have Been The Last Dream Of My Soul...since I Knew You, I Have Been Troubled By A Remorse That I Thought Would Never Reproach Me Again, And Have Heard Whispers From Old Voices Impelling Me Upward, That I Thought Were Silent For Ever. I Have Had Unformed Ideas Of Striving Afresh, Beginning Anew, Shaking Off Sloth And Sensuality, And Fighting Out The Abandoned Fight. A Dream, All A Dream, That Ends In Nothing, And Leaves The Sleeper Where He Lay Down, But I Wish You To Know That You Inspired It.

I Am What You Designed Me To Be.i Am Your Blade. You Cannot Now Complain If You Also Feel The Hurt