But for the grace of God, there go I

Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her.

Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.

(Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), Anglo-Irish playwright, author. The weaver, in "The Young King," A House of Pomegranates (1891).)

1891