And they three passed over the white sands, between the rocks, silent as the shadows.
If you are not a thinking man, to what purpose are you a man at all?.
That gracious thing, made up of tears and light.
Oh worse than everything, is kindness counterfeiting absent love.
An orphan's curse would drag to hell, a spirit from on high; but oh! more horrible than that, is a curse in a dead man's eye!
Poetry gives most pleasure when only generally and not perfectly understood.