Struck dead by an angel of God! Yet the angel must hang!

The sea had jeeringly kept his finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul.

Are not half our lives spent in reproaches for foregone actions, of the true nature and consequences of which we were wholly ignorant at the time?

All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys.

Surely no mere mortal who has at all gone down into himself will ever pretend that his slightest thought or act solely originates in his own defined identity.

Surrounded as we are by the wants and woes of our fellow-men, and yet given to follow our own pleasures, regardless of their pains, are we not like people sitting up with a corpse, and making merry in the house of the dead?

Man and boy, I have lived ever since I can remember.