Whatever you may be sure of, be sure of this, that you are dreadfully like other people.

Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote.

Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts, The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening... And loud and long Again the thunder shouts His battle-song, - One quivering flash, One wildering crash, Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go, Leapt bodily below To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull.

Granting our wish is one of Fate's saddest jokes.

We look at death through the cheap-glazed windows of the flesh, and believe him the monster which the flawed and cracked glass represents him.

Aspiration sees only one side of every question; possession many.

They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin.