Free And Other Stories By Theodore Dreiser

Oh, the moon is fair tonight along the Wabash, From the fields there comes the breath of new-mown hay; Through the sycamores the candle lights are gleaming On the banks of the Wabash, far away.

I acknowledge the Furies. I believe in them. I have heard the disastrous beating of their wings.

If I were personally to define religion, I would say that it is a bandage that man has invented to protect a soul made bloody by circumstance.