Sometimes At The Best Moments A Single

Love Endows Us With A Sort Of Personal Religion; We Respect Another Live Within Ourselves.

The Causes That Govern The Heart Appear To Be Wholly Alien To The Results Achieved. Are The Forces That Moved A Desperate Criminal The Same That Fill A Martyr With Pride, As Both Mount The Scaffold?

No Society Is Complete Without Some Victim, A Creature To Pity, To Jeer At, To Scorn Or To Protect.

In Paris, The Greatest Expression Of Personal Satisfaction Known To Man Is The Smirk On The Face Of A Male, Highly Pleased With Himself As He Leaves The Boudoir Of A Lady.

A Murderer Is Less Loathsome To Us Than A Spy. The Murderer May Have Acted On A Sudden Mad Impulse; He May Be Penitent And Amend; But A Spy Is Always A Spy, Night And Day, In Bed, At Table, As He Walks Abroad; His Vileness Pervades Every Moment Of His Life