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19c. 1804 AD
They eat Their daily bread, and draw the breath of Heaven Without or thought or thanks; Heaven’s roof, to them, Is but a painted ceiling hung with lamps, No more, that lights them to their purposes. They wander loose about; they nothing see, Themselves except, and creatures like themselves, Short-lived, short-sighted, impotent to save. So on their dissolute spirits, soon or late, Destruction cometh, like an armed man, Or like a dream of murder in the night, Withering their mortal faculties, and breaking The bones of all their pride.
Charles Lamb / quote
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