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The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighted the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?

Mendigos vs políticos

"Tut," quoth Robin, "how thou talkest! You and I are brothers, man. Do we not both take from the poor people that which they can ill spare? Do we not make our livings by making nought of any good? Do we not both live without touching palm to honest work? Have we either of us ever rubbed thumbs over honestly gained farthings? Go to! We are brothers, I say; only thou art rich and I am poor;"

"- all great ideas are dangerous."

Who can be listless in these stirring hours
When, with athletic courage, we engage
To storm, with fierce abandon, sterner powers
And meet indifference with a joyful rage;
Thrilled with a purpose and the dream that towers
Out of this arrogant and blundering age.

"(...) and my dream was fled,
As fade the phantoms of a wizard’s cell
When the dark charm is said."