Nothing but real love--(how rare it is; has one human heart in a million ever known it?) nothing but real love can repay us for the loss of freedom--the cares and fears of poverty--the cold pity of the world that we both despise and respect.
Only by the candle, held in the skeleton hand of Poverty, can man read his own dark heart.
In other countries poverty is a misfortune - with us it is a crime.
Poverty has strange bedfellows.
Poverty is relative, and, therefor not ignoble.
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