Oh, must I confess the whole, everything, before I can say, 'Forgive us our trespasses ?'" "No, 'Lina.

Unless you can repair some wrong, you are not bound to tell every little thing.

Confession is due to God alone," Alice whispered to the agitated girl, who looked bewildered, as she answered back: "But God knows all now, and you do not; besides, I can't feel sorry toward Him as I do toward others.

I try and try, but the feeling is not there--the sorry feeling, I mean, as sorry as I want to feel." "God, who knows our feebleness, accepts our purposes to do better, and gives us strength to carry them out," Alice whispered, again bending over 'Lina, on whose pallid, distressed face a ray of hope for a moment shone.
"I have good purposes," she murmured; "but I can't, I can't.

I don't know as they are real; maybe, if I get well, they would not last, and it's all so dark, so desolate--nothing to make life desirable--no home, no name, no friends--and death is so terrible.