Nature Makes Only Dumb Animals. We Owe

Genuine Sorrows Are Very Tranquil In Appearance In The Deep Bed They Have Dug For Themselves. But, Seeming To Slumber, They Corrode The Soul Like That Frightful Acid Which Penetrates Crystal.

The Smallest Flower Is A Thought, A Life Answering To Some Feature Of The Great Whole, Of Whom They Have A Persistent Intuition.

A Man May And Ought To Pride Himself More On His Will Than On His Talent.

To Have Fame Follow Us Is Well, But It Is Not A Desirable Avant-courier.

Small Natures Require Despotism To Exercise Their Sinews, As Great Souls Thirst For Equality To Give Play To Their Heart.