A small rock holds back a great wave.
Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.
There is no fouler fiend than a woman when her mind is bent to evil.
There will be killing till the score is paid.
Thou knowst the oer-eager vehemence of youth,How quick in temper, and in judgement weak.