Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.
I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.