Just as the banqueteers are drunk from wine, the citizens are drunk from fears, hopes, desires, and aversions and are therefore in need of being ruled by a man who is sober.
The penalty is death: yet hope of gain Hath lured men to their ruin oftentimes.
The good leader repeats the good news, keeps the worst to himself.
Once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.
Men of ill judgment oft ignore the good that lies within their hands, till they have lost it.
Yet again, isn’t there something terrible in randomness-the idea that at the very bottom of its calculations, real depravity has no master plan of any kind, it’s just a dreamy whim that slides out of people when they are trapped or bored or too lazy to analyze their own mania.
I gave them hope, and so turned away their eyes from death
For strangely graven
Is the orb of life, that one and another
In gold and power may outpass his brother.
And men in their millions float and flow
And seethe with a million hopes as leaven;
And they win their Will, or they miss their Will,
And the hopes are dead or are pined for still;
But whoe’er can know,
As the long days go,
That To Live is happy, hath found his Heaven!
Human misery must somewhere have a stop: there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end.
Yet we know that in war fortune sometimes makes the odds more level than could be expected from the difference in numbers of the two sides. And if we surrender, then all our hope is lost at once, whereas, so long as we remain in action, there is still a hope that we may yet stand upright.