And hope is but a dream of those that wake.

The end must justify the means.

Who breathes must suffer, and who thinks must mourn; And he alone is bless'd who ne'er was born.

Hope is but the dream of those that wake.

He's half absolv'd Who has confess'd.

They never taste who always drink They always talk who never think.

Similes are like songs of love: They much describe they nothing prove.