Alas!... what is it, valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing through the fire of Moloch? What remains to you as a prize of all the blood you have spilled, of all the travail and pain you have endured, of all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse?

Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.

The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.

War is the only game in which both sides lose.

The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!

Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.