Are There No Prisons?

The Earth Covered With A Sable Pall As For The Burial Of Yesterday; The Clumps Of Dark Trees, Its Giant Plumes Of Funeral Feathers, Waving Sadly To And Fro: All Hushed, All Noiseless, And In Deep Repose, Save The Swift Clouds That Skim Across The Moon, And The Cautious Wind, As, Creeping After Them Upon The Ground, It Stops To Listen, And Goes Rustling On, And Stops Again, And Follows, Like A Savage On The Trail.

There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast.

" ... It Is Not My Desire To Wound The Feelings Of Any Person With Whom I Am Connected In Family Bonds. I May Be A Hypocrite," Said Mr. Pecksniff, Cuttingly, "but I Am Not A Brute."

"you Are A Boy," Said Mr. Dombey, Suddenly And Almost Fiercely; "and What You Think Of, Or Affect To Think Of, Is Of Little Consequence. You Have Done Well, Sir. Don't Undo It."

It Was A Harder Day's Journey Than Yesterday's, For There Were Long And Weary Hills To Climb; And In Journeys, As In Life, It Is A Great Deal Easier To Go Down Hill Than Up. However, They Kept On, With Unabated Perseverance, And The Hill Has Not Yet Lifted Its Face To Heaven That Perseverance Will Not Gain The Summit Of At Last.