Who then will explain the explanation?

Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

Fills The air around with beauty.

I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.

Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.

He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.