Those who inflict must suffer, for they see The work of their own hearts, and that must be Our chastisement or recompense.

For there are deeds Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy power which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates

All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?