Perfection Is The Measure Of Heaven, And

Democracy Does Not Race, It Reaches The Finish Slowly But Surely.

Sometimes I Don't Understand How Another Can Love Her, Is Allowed To Love Her, Since I Love Her So Completely Myself, So Intensely, So Fully, Grasp Nothing, Know Nothing, Have Nothing But Her!

Must It Ever Be Thus-that The Source Of Our Happiness Must Also Be The Fountain Of Our Misery? The Full And Ardent Sentiment Which Animated My Heart With The Love Of Nature, Overwhelming Me With A Torrent Of Delight, And Which Brought All Paradise Before Me, Has Now Become An Insupportable Torment, A Demon Which Perpetually Pursues And Harrasses Me.

Confronted By Outstanding Merit, There Is No Way Of Saving One's Ego Except By Love

Death Is A Commingling Of Eternity With Time; In The Death Of A Good Man, Eternity Is Seen Looking Through Time.