I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.

Everything is true; only the opposite is true too; you must believe both equally or be damned.

He is not dead, this friend; not dead, Gone some few, trifling steps ahead, And nearer to the end; So that you, too, once past the bend, Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend You fancy dead.

Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn Disturbs the eternal sleep, But in the stillness far withdrawn Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.

The less I understood of this farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its importance.

My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring

Every man has a sane spot somewhere.