Adversity Makes Men, And Prosperity Makes Monsters.

When Liberty Returns, I Will Return.

Men Hate Those To Whom They Have To Lie.

Mothers Arms Are Made Of Tenderness, And Sweet Sleep Blesses The Child Who Lies Therein.

No Religion But Blasphemes A Little.

At The Moment When Her Eyes Closed, When All Feeling Vanished In Her, She Thought That She Felt A Touch Of Fire Imprinted On Her Lips, A Kiss More Burning Than The Red-hot Iron Of The Executioner.