There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!

If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!