Do All The Good You Can And

The Forces That Affect Our Lives, The Influences That Mold And Shape Us, Are Often Like Whispers In A Different Room, Teasingly Indistinct, Apprehended Only With Difficulty.

No One Has The Least Regard For The Man; With Them All, He Has Been An Object Of Avoidance, Suspicion, And Aversion; But The Spark Of Life Within Him Is Curiously Separable From Himself Now, And They Have A Deep Interest In It, Probably Because It Is Life, And They Are Living And Must Die.

Christmas Is A Time In Which, Of All Times In The Year, The Memory Of Every Remediable Sorrow, Wrong, And Trouble In The World Around Us, Should Be Active With Us, Not Less Than Our Own Experiences, For All Good.

How Beautiful You Are! You Are More Beautiful In Anger Than In Repose. I Don't Ask You For Your Love; Give Me Yourself And Your Hatred; Give Me Yourself And That Pretty Rage; Give Me Yourself And That Enchanting Scorn; It Will Be Enough For Me.

After Tea, We Discussed A Variety Of Topics Before The Fire; And Mrs. Micawber Was Good Enough To Sing Us (in A Small, Thin, Flat Voice, Which I Remembered To Have Considered, When I First Knew Her, The Very Table-beer Of Acoustics) The Favourite Ballads Of "the Dashing White Sergeant", And "little Tafflin".