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

Not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.

A wise man travels to discover himself.

Ah, in this world, where every guiding thread Ends suddenly in the one sure centre, death, The visionary hand of Might-have-been Alone can fill Desire's cup to the brim!

Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how.

All birds during the pairing season become more or less sentimental, and murmur soft nothings in a tone very unlike the grinding-organ repetition and loudness of their habitual song. The crow is very comical as a lover; and to hear him trying to soften his croak to the proper Saint-Preux standard has something the effect of a Mississippi boatman quoting Tennyson.