This is a sickness rooted and inherent in the nature of a tyranny: that he that holds it does not trust his friends.
Time cleanses what it touches over time.
The field of doom bears death as its harvest.
For sufferers it is sweet to know before-hand clearly the pain that still remains for them.
A god implants in mortal guilt whenever he wants utterly to confound a house.
We spoil ourselves with scruples long as things go well.