No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.

No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.

Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on?

It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand their true import.

How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.

But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.

It is something like the way dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we have knowledge of.