The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun.

. . . it is yours women's to be silent and stay within doors.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.

In war, truth is the first casualty.

It is the nature of mortals to kick a fallen man.

There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.

In few men is it part of nature to respect a friend's prosperity without begrudging him.