We Practically Always Excuse Things When We

One Should Never Spurn A Penitent Criminal: In His Despair He May Become Twice As Much A Criminal As Before.

I Was Modest--they Accused Me Of Being Crafty: I Became Secretive. I Felt Deeply Good And Evil--nobody Caressed Me, Everybody Offended Me: I Became Rancorous. I Was Gloomy--other Children Were Merry And Talkative. I Felt Myself Superior To Them--but Was Considered Inferior: I Became Envious. I Was Ready To Love The Whole World--none Understood Me: And I Learned To Hate.

My Love Had Grown One With My Soul; It Became Darker, But Did Not Go Out

Women Only Love Those That They Don’t Know.

My Whole Life Has Been Merely A Succession Of Miserable And Unsuccessful Denials Of Feelings Or Reason.