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It was the last time Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things Great battles often leave the world where they found it Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously He had omitted to execute heretics He came as a conqueror not as a mediator Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair If he had little, he could live upon little Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience Not to let the grass grow under their feet Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing Saint Bartholomew's day Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries Science of reigning was the science of lying Sent them word by carrier pigeons Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires Slender stock of platitudes So much responsibility and so little power Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood The time for reasoning had passed The calf is fat and must be killed The perpetual reproductions of history The greatest crime, however, was to be rich The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass The tragedy of Don Carlos The illness was a convenient one Three hundred fighting women Time and myself are two Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself We are beginning to be vexed Wealth was an unpardonable sin Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers Who loved their possessions better than their creed Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery