Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night.
Scorching my seared heart with a pain, not hell shall make me fear again.
To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.
I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.
I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. "Death," I said, "any death but that of the pit!" Fool! might I have not known that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me?