The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.
The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?