I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear. How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls; And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls. But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear, And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

The Fool shall not enter into Heaven let him be ever so Holy.

But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.

Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.

As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.

Want of money and the distress of a thief can never be alleged as the cause of his thieving, for many honest people endure greater hardships with fortitude. We must therefore seek the cause elsewhere than in want of money, for that is the miser's passion, not the thief s.

The person who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he or she will never take part in one.