The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.

And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame.

Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

For freedom's battle, once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won.

Do you know how cruel your God can be, David. How fantastically cruel? ...Sometimes he makes us live.

Je parvins a faire s'evanouir dans mon esprit toute l'esperance humaine.

'But he who dies in despair has lived his whole life in vain.'