The Moor has done his work, the Moor may go.

A sublime soul can rise to all kinds of greatness, but by an effort; it can tear itself from all bondage, to all that limits and constrains it, but only by strength of will. Consequently the sublime soul is only free by broken efforts.

The Moor has done his work, the Moor may go.

No greater grief than to remember days of gladness when sorrow is at hand.

Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.

Alas! When duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away.

The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it.