Doubtless there are men of great parts that are guilty of downright bashfulness, that by a strange hesitation and reluctance to speak murder the finest and most elegant thoughts and render the most lively conceptions flat and heavy.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
Show me a woman who doesn't feel guilty, and I'll show you a man.
Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart.
Every vice makes its guilt the more conspicuous in proportion to the rank of the offender. [Lat., Omne animi vitium tanto conspectius in se Crimen habet, quanto major qui peccat habetur.]
Victims suggest innocence. And innocence, by the inexorable logic that governs all relational terms, suggests guilt.
Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the Great; Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state? Yes--one the first, the last, the best, The Cincinnatus of the West Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington To make man blush; there was but one.
Oh, the blind counsels of the guilty! Oh, how cowardly is wickedness always! [Lat., O caeca nocentum consilia! O semper timidum scelus!]