The Rose Is Wont With Pride To

Common Sense Is The Genius Of Humanity.

He Who Does Not Stretch Himself According To The Coverlet Finds His Feet Uncovered.

We Amuse Ourselves Painting Our Prison-walls With Bright Figures And Brilliant Landscapes.

The Artist Alone Sees Spirits. But After He Has Told Of Their Appearing To Him, Everybody Sees Them.

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.