Blood Is A Juice Of Rarest Quality.

What A Mighty Spirit In A Narrow Bosom. [ger., Welch' Hoher Geist In Einer Engen Brust.]

The Miller Imagines That The Corn Grows Only To Make His Mill Turn.

It's True That Nothing In This World Makes Us So Necessary To Others As The Affection We Have For Them.

A Good Person, Striving Dimly, Is Well Aware Of The Right Path.

Who Longs In Solitude To Live, Ah! Soon His Wish Will Gain: Men Hope And Love, Men Get And Give, And Leave Him To His Pain.