"My dog," he said, "just barks and plays -has all he wants to eat. He never works- has no trouble about business. In a little while he dies, and that is all. I work with all my strength. I have no time to play. I have trouble every day. In a little while I will die, and then I go to hell. I wish that I had been a dog."

Shame is a soul eating emotion.

Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.

When a stupid man is doing something he is ashamed of, he always declares that it is his duty.

"Nay, you'll be ashamed of me everyday of your life," he answered; "and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it."

For the pride of trace and trail was his, and sick unto death, he could not bear that another dog should do his work.

O the shame of it, the humiliating shame of being condescended to by dolts

"I believe I'm done for," said Tom. "The cussed sneaking dog, to leave me to die alone! My poor old mother always told me 'twould be so."

A secret in his mouth, is like a wild bird put into a cage; whose door no sooner opens, but 'tis out.

They say that the best dog will turn cross if he be kept chained all the time, and it was the same with the man; he had not a thing to do all day but lie and curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to curse everything.

Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

He looked as though his life had not only passed him by but paused along the way to spit in his face.

Whatever is begun in anger, ends in shame.

I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one's erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect. Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.