I Would Give Up My Life For

The Way To Become Rich Is To Make Money, Not To Save It.

In The Procession I Should Feel The Crushing Feet, The Clashing Discords, The Ruthless Hands And Stifling Breath. I Could Not Hear The Rhythm Of The March.

She Had All Her Life Long Been Accustomed To Harbor Thoughts And Emotions Which Never Voiced Themselves… They Belonged To Her Her And Were Her Own, And She Entertained The Conviction That She Had A Right To Them And They They Concerned No One But Herself.

There Were Days When She Was Unhappy, She Did Not Know Why,--when It Did Not Seem Worthwhile To Be Glad Or Sorry, To Be Alive Or Dead; When Life Appeared To Her Like A Grotesque Pandemonium And Humanity Like Worms Struggling Blindly Toward Inevitable Annihilation.

A Bird With A Broken Wing Was Beating The Air Above, Reeling, Fluttering, Circling Disabled, Down, Down To The Water