Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor, watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning; and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns.
There is a slowness in affairs which ripens them, and a slowness which rots them.
With care, and skill, and cunning art, She parried Time's malicious dart, And kept the years at bay, Till passion entered in her heart and aged her in a day!
And wit's the noblest frailty of the mind.
I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long.
Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.
On the throne, one has many worries; and remorse is the one that weighs the least.
Mysterious love, uncertain treasure, hast thou more of pain or pleasure! Endless torments dwell about thee: Yet who would live, and live without thee!
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.
Whoever feels mercy for the cruel is bound to eventually be cruel to the merciful.
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