Pessimism Is Playing The Sure Game. You

Black Chaos Comes, And The Fettered Gods Of The Earth Say, Let There Be Light.

Teach Me To Live, That I May Dread The Grave As Little As My Bed. Teach Me To Die.

...the Figure Near At Hand Suffers On Such Occasions, Because It Shows Up Its Sorriness Without Shade; While Vague Figures Afar Off Are Honored, In That Their Distance Makes Artistic Virtues Of Their Stains. In Considering What Tess Was Not, He Overlooked What She Was, And Forgot That The Defective Can Be More Than The Entire.

If The Story-tellers Could Ha' Got Decency And Good Morals From True Stories, Who'd Have Troubled To Invent Parables?

She Was At That Modulating Point Between Indifference And Love, At The Stage Called Having A Fancy For. It Occurs Once In The History Of The Most Gigantic Passions, And It Is A Period When They Are In The Hands Of The Weakest Will.