Vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness.

That chastity of honour which felt a stain like a wound.

Kings will be tyrants from policy, when subjects are rebels from principle.

The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone!

I rarely saw them as individuals. It was always a huge mass...they were naked, packed together, running, being driven with whips.

They that endeavour to abolish vice destroy also virtue, for contraries, though they destroy one another, are yet the life of one another.

Because the line between, Wrong and right, Is the width of a thread, From a spider's web. The piano keys are black and white, But they sound like a million col…