It Would Be Most Right, And Most

When The Evening Was Over, Anne Could Not Be Amused…nor Could She Help Fearing, On More Serious Reflection, That, Like Many Other Great Moralists And Preachers, She Had Been Eloquent On A Point In Which Her Own Conduct Would Ill Bear Examination.

There Is, I Believe, In Every Disposition A Tendency To Some Particular Evil, A Natural Defect, Which Not Even The Best Education Can Overcome." "and Your Defect Is A Propensity To Hate Everybody." "and Yours," He Replied With A Smile, "is Wilfully To Misunderstand Them.

Pity Is For This Life, Pity Is The Worm Inside The Meat, Pity Is The Meat, Pity Is The Shaking Pencil, Pity Is The Shaking Voice-- Not Enough Money, Not Enough Love--pity For All Of Us--it Is Our Grace, Walking Down The Ramp Or On The Moving Sidewalk, Sitting In A Chair, Reading The Paper, Pity, Turning A Leaf To The Light, Arranging A Thorn.

To Look Almost Pretty Is An Acquisition Of Higher Delight To A Girl Who Has Been Looking Plain For The First Fifteen Years Of Her Life Than A Beauty From Her Cradle Can Ever Receive.

The Last Few Hours Were Certainly Very Painful," Replied Anne: "but When Pain Is Over, The Remembrance Of It Often Becomes A Pleasure. One Does Not Love A Place The Less For Having Suffered In It, Unless It Has Been All Suffering, Nothing But Suffering-