Done Because We Are Too Many.

Never In Her Life – She Could Swear It From The Bottom Of Her Soul – Had She Ever Intended To Do Wrong; Yet These Hard Judgments Had Come. Whatever Her Sins, They Were Not Sins Of Intention, But Of Inadvertence, And Why Should She Have Been Punished So Persistently?

Did You Say The Stars Were Worlds, Tess?" "yes." "all Like Ours?" "i Don't Know, But I Think So. They Sometimes Seem To Be Like The Apples On Our Stubbard-tree. Most Of Them Splendid And Sound - A Few Blighted." "which Do We Live On - A Splendid One Or A Blighted One?" "a Blighted One.

A Novel Is An Impression, Not An Argument; And There The Matter Must Rest.

That Cold Accretion Called The World, So Terrible In The Mass, Is So Non Formidable, Even Pitiable, In Its Units.

Do Not Do An Immoral Thing For Moral Reasons.