As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.
It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time.