It Is Painful To Doubt The Sincerity

The Bud, Though Plucked, Would Not Be Withered, Only Transplanted To A Fitter Soil To Ripen And Blow Beneath A Brighter Sun; And Though I Might Not Cherish And Watch My Child's Unfolding Intellect, He Would Be Snatched Away From All The Suffering And Sins Of Earth; And My Understanding Tells Me This Would Be No Great Evil; But My Heart Shrinks From The Contemplation Of Such A Possibility, And Whispers I Could Not Bear To See Him Die.

I Wished To Tell The Truth, For Truth Always Conveys Its Own Moral To Those Who Are Able To Receive It.

No Generous Mind Delights To Oppress The Weak, But Rather To Cherish And Protect.

He Never Could Have Loved Me, Or He Would Not Have Resigned Me So Willingly

But Smiles And Tears Are So Alike With Me, They Are Neither Of Them Confined To Any Particular Feelings: I Often Cry When I Am Happy, And Smile When I Am Sad.