The Mysterious Path Goes Inward. It Is

I Often Feel, And Ever More Deeply I Realize, That Fate And Character Are The Same Conception.

A Hero Is One Who Knows How To Hang On One Minute Longer.

The Poem Of The Understanding Is Philosophy.

Friendship, Love, And Piety Ought To Be Handled With A Sort Of Mysterious Secrecy; They Ought To Be Spoken Of Only In The Rare Moments Of Perfect Confidence, To Be Mutually Understood In Silence. Many Things Are Too Delicate To Be Thought; Many More, To Be Spoken.

In Cheerful Souls There Is No Wit. Wit Shows A Disturbance Of The Equipoise.