Man maketh a death which Nature never made.
Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
By all means use some time to be alone.