The Zeal Of Friends It Is That

Nothing Leads To Good That Is Not Natural.

Time Consecrates; And What Is Gray With Age Becomes Religion.

Art Is Difficult, Transient Is Her Reward.

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.

If Yon Wish To Be Like The Gods On Earth, To Be Free In The Realms Of The Dead, Pluck Not The Fruit From The Garden! In Appearance It May Glisten To The Eye; But The Perishable Pleasure Of Possession Quickly Avenges The Curse Of Curiosity.