Take God from nature, nothing great is left.
We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.
And all may do what has by man been done.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain.