How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling. - Emily Brontë

Yes, as my swift days near their goal
'Tis all that I implore
In life and death a chainless soul
With courage to endure

First melted off the hope of youth Then Fancy's rainbow fast withdrew And then experience told me truth In mortal bosoms never grew 'Twas grief enough to think mankind All hollow servile insincere But worse to trust to my own mind And find the same corruption there

But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm's length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I'll rest.