I was then prostrated, both physically and mentally, to that degree that I had scarcely strength to drag myself along, or moral courage enough to look any decent man in the face.

I was often assured that to quit whisky would kill me.

I thought there was a probability of that; but, on the other hand, there was a certainty that to continue it would kill me.

I resolved to make one more effort and die sober, for I never expected to live; had no hope of that.

From the day I entered the Home I have been a changed man.