We Can Redeem Anyone Who Strives Unceasingly.

All That Is Noble Is In Itself Of A Quiet Nature, And Appears To Sleep Until It Is Aroused And Summoned Forth By Contrast.

Art Is Long, Life Short, Judgment Difficult, Opportunity Transient. To Act Is Easy, To Think Is Hard; To Act According To Our Thought Is Troublesome. Every Beginning Is Cheerful: The Threshold Is The Place Of Expectation.

Women Are Silver Dishes Into Which We Put Golden Apples.

Such Is The Frailty Of Man That Even Where He Makes The Truest And Most Forcible Impression In The Memory, In The Heart Of His Beloved, There Also He Must Perish.

Is It Not Enough That We Cannot Make One Another Happy, Must We Also Rob One Another Of The Pleasures That Any Heart May Permit Itself Now And Then? And Name Me A Person Who In A Bad Mood Will Be Decent Enough To Hide It, To Bear It Alone, Without Destroying The Joy Around Him. Is It Not Rather An Inner Dissatisfaction With Our Own Unworthiness, A Dislike Of Ourselves That Is Always Associated With Envy Aggravated By Foolish Conceit? We See People Happy And Not Made Happy By Us, And That Is Unbearable.