There's Naught, No Doubt, So Much The

For The Angel Of Death Spread His Wings On The Blast, And Breathed In The Face Of The Foe As He Passed; And The Eyes Of The Sleepers Waxed Deadly And Chill, And Their Hearts But Once Heaved, And For Ever Grew Still!

Kill A Man's Family, And He May Brook It, But Keep Your Hands Out Of His Breeches' Pocket.

There Is, In Fact, No Law Or Government At All; And It Is Wonderful How Well Things Go On Without Them.

I Am The Very Slave Of Circumstance And Impulse -- Borne Away With Every Breath!

What Deep Wounds Ever Closed Without A Scar? The Hearts Bleed Longest, And Heals But To Wear That Which Disfigures It.