When A Man Bleeds Inwardly, It Is

"i Take My Leave Of You, Mr. Creakle, And All Of You," Said Mr. Mell, Glancing Round The Room, And Again Patting Me Gently On The Shoulders. "james Steerforth, The Best Wish I Can Leave You Is That You May Come To Be Ashamed Of What You Have Done Today. At Present I Would Prefer To See You Anything Rather Than A Friend, To Me, Or To Anyone In Whom I Feel An Interest."

I Only Know That It Was, And Ceased To Be; And That I Have Written, And There I Leave It.

For Who Can Wonder That Man Should Feel A Vague Belief In Tales Of Disembodied Spirits Wandering Through Those Places Which They Once Dearly Affected, When He Himself, Scarcely Less Separated From His Old World Than They, Is For Ever Lingering Upon Past Emotions And Bygone Times, And Hovering, The Ghost Of His Former Self, About The Places And People That Warmed His Heart Of Old?

The Aphorism "whatever Is, Is Right," Would Be As Final As It Is Lazy, Did It Not Include The Troublesome Consequence That Nothing That Ever Was, Was Wrong.

Never," Said My Aunt, "be Mean In Anything; Never Be False; Never Be Cruel. Avoid Those Three Vices, Trot, And I Can Always Be Hopeful Of You.