The workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery of the universe. One moment they make us despair of our kind, and the next we see in them the reflection of the divine image.

There are sordid souls that eat and drink and breed and die, and imagine they have lived.

Race prejudice is the devil unchained.

As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.

Sins, like chickens, come home to roost.

I think I must write a book. It has been my cherished dream and I feel an influence that I cannot resist calling me to the task.

Those that set in motion the forces of evil cannot always control them afterwards.