'Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override the better?
Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways.

I do not love the one thing, I love all.

I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts.

I pity the poor; who knows their trials better than myself?
I pity and help them; I prize love, I love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but I love it from my heart.

And are my vices only to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the mind?
Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts.' But the visitant raised his finger.