Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
... by indirections find directions out.
And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
Grief makes one hour ten.
It comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.