Our enemies are our evil deeds and their memories our pride our selfishness our malice our passions which by conscience or by habit pursue us with a relentlessness past the power of figure to express.
But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns.