A man vows, and yet will not east away the means of breaking his vow. Is it that he distinctly means to break it? Not at all; but the desires which tend to break it are at work in him dimly, and make their way into his imagination, and relax his muscles in the very moments when he is telling himself over again the reasons for his vow.
George EliotDeath is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
George EliotHarold, like the rest of us, had many impressions which saved him the trouble of distinct ideas.
George Eliot