The One Who Always Strives, That One

Noble Be Man, Helpful And Good! For That Alone Sets Him Apart From Every Other Creature On Earth.

Woe To Him Who Would Ascribe Something Like Reason To Chance, And Make A Religion Of Surrendering To It.

The Mortal Race Is Far Too Weak Not To Grow Dizzy On Unwonted Brights. [ger., Das Sterbliche Geschlecht Ist Viel Zu Schwach In Ungewohnter Hohe Nicht Zu Schwindeln.]

Please Send Me Your Last Pair Of Shoes, Worn Out With Dancing As You Mentioned In Your Letter, So That I Might Have Something To Press Against My Heart.

Rash, Inexperienced Youth Holds Itself A Chosen Instrument, And Allows Itself Unbounded License.