What is our innocence, What is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe.

the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.

The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."

If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.

... we do not admire what we cannot understand.

Wolf's wool is the best of wool, / but it cannot be sheared because / the wolf will not comply.

You're not free until you've been made captive by supreme belief.