The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.

There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

Hatred is the madness of the heart.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I know now they mean money.

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.