that Englishman who came to challenge me three or four months ago, and whom I killed to stop him bothering me

Youth is a blossom whose fruit is love; happy is he who plucks it after watching it slowly ripen.

The wretched and miserable should turn to their Saviour first, yet they do not hope in Him until all other hope is exhausted.

...does that not tell you that grief is like life and that there is always somethings unknown beyond it?

...for, however all other feelings may be withered in a woman's nature, there is always one bright smiling spot in the maternal breast, and that is where a dearly-beloved child is concerned.

Great is truth. Fire cannot burn it nor water drown it.

So he went down, smiling sceptically and mutter the final word in human wisdom: 'Perhaps!