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Poverty is what I am writing about, and I had my first contact with poverty in this slum. The slum, with its dirt and its queer lives, was first an object-lesson in poverty, and then the background of my own experiences. It is for that reason that I try to give some idea of what life was like there.
Ah, the poverty, the shortness, the disappointment of human joy!
The mass of the rich and the poor are differentiated by their incomes and nothing else, and the average millionaire is only the average dishwasher dressed in a new suit.
The thought of not being poor made me very patriotic.
It is a trade like any other; quite useless, of course—but, then, many reputable trades are quite useless.
