Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough. Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades. Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!
Alfred Lord TennysonAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: August 6, 1809
- Died: October 6, 1892
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But what then is capital punishment but the most premeditated of murders, to which no criminal's deed, however calculated it may be, can be compared? For there to be equivalence, the death penalty would have to punish a criminal who had warned his victim of the date at which he would inflict a horrible death on him and who, from that moment onward, had confined him at his mercy for months. Such a monster is not encountered in private life.
Albert Camus