When I speak to you about myself, I am speaking to you about yourself. How is it you don't see that?

The clouds, - the only birds that never sleep.

In joined hands there is still some token of hope, in the clenched fist none.

A criminal remains a criminal whether he uses a convict's suit or a monarch's crown.

There is in every village a torch - the teacher; and an extinguisher - the priest.

Those who every morning plan the transactions of the day and follow out that plan carry a thread that will guide them through the labyrinth of the most busy life. The orderly arrangement of their time is like a ray of light which darts itself through all their occupations. But where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidents, chaos will soon reign.

Such is the remorseless progression of human society, shedding lives and souls as it goes on its way. It is an ocean into which men sink who have been cast out by the law and consigned, with help most cruelly withheld, to moral death. The sea is the pitiless social darkness into which the penal system casts those it has condemned, an unfathomable waste of misery. The human soul, lost in those depths, may become a corpse. Who shall revive it?