Under many circumstances a man has the right to kill himself. The old idea was that God made us and placed us here for a purpose and that it was our duty to remain until he called us. The world is outgrowing this absurdity. No one, except a few insane, act now according to this childish superstition. The grave is better than the cell.
Sleep is sweeter than the ache of toil.
The dead have no masters. So the poor girl, betrayed and deserted, the door of home closed against her, the faces of friends averted, no hand that will help, no eye that will soften with pity, the future an abyss filled with monstrous shapes of dread and fear, her mind racked by fragments of thoughts like clouds broken by storm, pursued, surrounded by the serpents of remorse, flying from horrors too great to bear, rushes with joy through the welcome door of death. As to the necessity of death, each must decide for himself. Certainly the man who kills himself is not a physical coward. He may have lacked moral courage, but not physical.