In A Time Of Crisis, The Peoples

Terrible Times In Which Priests No Longer Merit The Praise Of Poets And In Which Poets Have Not Yet Begun To Be Priests.

A Grain Of Poetry Suffices To Season A Century.

Perhaps The Enemies Of Liberty Are Such Only Because They Judge It By Its Loud Voice. If They Knew Its Charms, The Dignity That Accompanies It, How Much A Free Man Feels Like A King, The Perpetual Inner Light That Is Produced By Decorous Self-awareness And Realization, Perhaps There Would Be No Greater Friends Of Freedom Than Those Who Are Its Worst Enemies.

The Struggles Waged By Nations Are Weak Only When They Lack Support In The Hearts Of Their Women.

He Who Does Not See Things In Their Depth Should Not Call Himself A Radical.