The workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery of the universe. One moment they make us despair of our kind, and the next we see in them the reflection of the divine image.
There's time enough, but none to spare.
As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.
Impossibilities are merely things of which we have not learned, or which we do not wish to happen.
Sins, like chickens, come home to roost.