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

He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.

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.