There is a woe that is wisdom, a woe that is madness.

In thoughts of the visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti.

An utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.

Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I.

Nothing may help or heal While Amor incensed remembers wrong.

Beware the People weeping When they bare the iron hand.

I'll try a pagan friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy.