He is mad past recovery, but yet he has lucid intervals.

We ought to love our Maker for His own sake, without either hope of good or fear of pain.

I can tell where my own shoe pinches me.

Here lies a gentleman bold Who was so very brave He went to lengths untold, And on the brink of the grave Death had on him no hold. By the world he set small store-- He frightened it to the core-- Yet somehow, by Fate's plan, Though he'd lived a crazy man, When he died he was sane once more.

He who sings frightens away his ills.

The road to the inn is much better than the stay.

'Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it.