He Who Is Not Capable Of Enduring

Toleration Is The Best Religion.

The Memory Of An Absent Person Shines In The Deepest Recesses Of The Heart, Shining The More Brightly The More Wholly Its Object Has Vanished: A Light On The Horizon Of The Despairing, Darkened Spirit; A Star Gleaming In Our Inward Night.

The Peasants Of The Asturias Believe That In Every Litter Of Wolves There Is One Pup That Is Killed By The Mother For Fear That On Growing Up It Would Devour The Other Little Ones.

Hope Is A Delusion; No Hand Can Grasp A Wave Or A Shadow.

The Cruel Of Heart Have Their Own Black Happiness.