Imagination, the traitor of the mind, has taken my solitude and slain it.

Pleasure is the carrot dangled to lead the ass to market; or the precipice.

We have to live like people in a web of knives, we mustn't reach out our hands or we get them gashed.

I learned that ruling poor men's hands is nothing. Ruling men's money's a wedge in the world. But after I'd split it open a crack I looked in and saw the trick inside it, the filthy nothing, the fooled and rotten faces of rich and successful men.

I've changed my ways a little, I cannot now Run with you in the evenings along the shore, Except in a kind of dream, and you, if you dream a moment, You see me there.