Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

Our Mother feedeth thus our little life, That we may in turn feed her with our death

The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.

I think a bishop who doesn't give offence to anyone is probably not a good bishop.

Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be slaves.

'Tis easier for the generous to forgive, than for offence to ask it.