A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was a lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away.

A woman’s suffering is never above half known, for the fact of the publicity of her wrongs is counted to her for disgrace.

Of all the joys that lighten suffering earth, what joy is welcomed like a new born child?

I do not ask for my rights. I have no rights. I have only wrongs.

A child's eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thought—what on earth can be more beautiful? Full of hope, love and curiosity, they meet your own.

A woman's suffering is never above half known, for the fact of the publicity of her wrongs is counted to her for disgrace.

Perhaps there will come a time when... an unmarried mother will not be despised because of her motherhood... and when the right of the unborn to be born will not be denied or interfered with.

We have been friends together In sunshine and in shade.

For death and life, in ceaseless strife, Beat wild on this world's shore, And all our calm is in that balm— Not lost but gone before.

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away.