The Crime Of A Mother Is A

He Who Will Travel Far Spares His Steed.

The Day Is Not Purer Than The Depths Of My Heart.

I Will Die If I Lose You, But I Will Die If I Wait Longer.

I Embrace My Rival, But Only To Strangle Him.

Vice, Like Virtue, Grows In Small Steps, And No True Innocence Can Ever Fall At Once To Deepest Guilt.