“Woe! Woe! Woe!"Woe be unto the pastors that destroy and scatter the sheep of His pasture!"Woe to him that buildeth a town with blood and by iniquity!"Woe unto you that are rich! For ye have received your consolation!"Woe to the pastors who are brutish and have not sought the Lord!"Woe to the Inquisitors, for Jesus will inquire unto them!"Blessed are the faggots, for their voices will be an angel's choir."Blessed is my sister, Lila, for heaven is within her."Blessed are the rabble, for they shall know God."But woe upon you, for the evil of your own doings shall be visited upon you."Let my sister go!”

“Blessed be the stone masons, for they shall lay bricks of gold on the streets of heaven for their wives to walk upon. Blessed are the sowers and harvesters, for they shall live again in the Garden of Eden. Blessed are the bartenders, for Jesus will serve them. Blessed are the prostitutes, for Jesus will embrace them. Woe unto the pastors who preach hate, for they shall live in eternal hate. Woe unto the pastors who become brutes, for their flocks shall be scattered. Woe unto the Inquisitors, for Jesus will inquire unto them.”

“woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil.”

“Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty. Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale. Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal. Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness. Woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonor! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation. Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway.”

“Song in the Manner of Housman" O woe, woe, People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon Therefore let us act as if we were dead already. The bird sits on the hawthorn tree But he dies also, presently. Some lads get hung, and some get shot. Woeful is this human lot. Woe! woe, etcetera.... London is a woeful place, Shropshire is much pleasanter. Then let us smile a little space Upon fond nature's morbid grace. Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera....”

“and then woe is you, Pauly. Woe to the max.”