I shall not die of a cold, my son. I shall die of having lived.
God has been very good to let me live to see a happy issue to those old wrongs.
Such silence and stillness and repose – immortal repose.
It’s better to be a stray dog in this world than a man without money. I’ve tried both ways and I know. A poor man stinks and God hates him.
Oh, that’s a cruelty of being poor; it leaves you at the mercy of such pigs! Money is a protection, a cloak; it can buy one quiet, and some sort of dignity.
Yes, it’s he. He used to be a friend of mine. That’s a sad phrase, isn’t it?
It’s all very well to tell us to forgive our enemies; our enemies can’t hurt us very much. But, oh, what about forgiving our friends? That’s where the rub comes!