Woe is me! Bitter is me! For what is my life? Why didn't the ship go under and drown me before I came to America?

Woe is me! Bitter is me! For what is my life? Why didn't the ship go under and drown me before I came to America?

I too was frightened the first time I felt I hated my father. I felt like a criminal. But could I help it what was inside of me? I had to feel what I felt even if it killed me.

Poverty was an ornament on a learned man like a red ribbon on a white horse.

Like all people who have nothing, I lived on dreams.

The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.

When I only begin to read, I forget I'm on this world. It lifts me on wings with high thoughts.