In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain
Call no man happy till he is dead.
Excessive fear is always powerless.
He who goes unenvied shall not be admired.
There is no sickness worse for me than words that to be kind must lie.
He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.
