The Will Of Man Is His Happiness.

The History Of The World Is The World's Court Of Justice.

Great Souls Suffer In Silence.

To Rankling Poison Hast Thou Turned In Me The Milk Of Human Kindness.

Everlastingly Chained To A Single Little Fragment Of The Whole, Man Himself Develops Into Nothing But A Fragment; Everlastingly In His Ear The Monotonous Sound Of The Wheel That He Turns, He Never Develops The Harmony Of His Being, And Instead Of Putting The Stamp Of Humanity Upon His Own Nature, He Becomes Nothing More Than The Imprint Of His Occupation Or Of His Specialized Knowledge.

Fate Always Wins, For Our Own Heart Within Us Imperiously Furthers Its Designs.