A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.
He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years.
The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.