Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
A land of levity is a land of guilt.
What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
An undevout astronomer is mad.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!