There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.

So over violent, or over civil that every man with him was God or Devil.

Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.

Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.

To die is landing on some distant shore.

So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.

But dying is a pleasure / When living is a pain.