All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.
Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!
Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels; how heavily we drag the load of life!
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
A God alone can comprehend a God.