I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received;

I Had A Dream, Which Was Not At All A Dream.

The Great Art Of Life Is Sensation, To Feel That We Exist, Even In Pain.

O Gold! I Still Prefer Thee Unto Paper, Which Makes Bank Credit Like A Bark Of Vapour.

Think'st Thou There Is No Tyranny But That Of Blood And Chains? The Despotism Of Vice-- The Weakness And The Wickedness Of Luxury-- The Negligence--the Apathy--the Evils Of Sensual Sloth--produces Ten Thousand Tyrants, Whose Delegated Cruelty Surpasses The Worst Acts Of One Energetic Master, However Harsh And Hard In His Own Bearing.

Prolonged Endurance Tames The Bold.