The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.

Always have old memories, and young hopes.

Hope is the virgin of the ideal world, who opens beaten to as in the midst of every tempest.

The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.

Happiness is always the inaccessible castle which sinks in ruin when we set foot on it.

Whoever embarks with women embarks with a storm; but they are themselves the safety boats.

Genius has its fatality. Must we not see in its works a manifestation of the will of Providence?