“All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

“Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless…”

“There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond.”

“Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age.”

“Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?”

“The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.”