Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.

As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.