The Darker The Night, The Brighter The

I Have No Self-respect. But Can A Man Of Acute Sensibility Respect Himself At All?

But It Is Possible, It Is Possible: The Old Grief, By A Great Mystery Of Human Life, Gradually Passes Into Quiet, Tender Joy; Instead Of Young, Ebullient Blood Comes A Mild, Serene Old Age: I Bless The Sun's Rising Each Day And My Heart Sings To It As Before, But Now I Love Its Setting Even More, Its Long Slanting Rays, And With Them Quiet, Mild, Tender Memories, Dear Images From The Whole Of A Long And Blessed Life--and Over All Is God's Truth, Moving, Reconciling, All-forgiving!

Here My Tears Are Falling, Nastenka. Let Them Flow, Let Them Flow - They Don't Hurt Anybody. They Will Dry Nastenka.

To Be Acutely Conscious Is A Disease, A Real, Honest-to-goodness Disease.

There Is No Object On Earth Which Cannot Be Looked At From A Cosmic Point Of View.