The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.
If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.
We of the craft are all crazy.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
Eternity forbids thee to forget.
I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.