Yet I pity the poor wretch, though he's my enemy. He's yoked to an evil delusion, but the same fate could be mine. I see clearly: we who live are all phantoms, fleeing shadows.

The joy that comes past hope and beyond expectation is like no other pleasure in extent.

Oh death, death, why do you never come to me thus summoned always day by day?

Heaven ne'er helps the men who will not act.

For the wretched one night is like a thousand; for someone faring well death is just one more night.

There are times when even justice brings harm with it.

Evil gains work their punishment.