Art, as far as it is able, follows nature, as a pupil imitates his master; thus your art must be, as it were, God's grandchild.

At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.

He listens well who takes notes.

There is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness.

If your world isn't right, the cause is in you.

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

One ought to be afraid of nothing other then things possessed of power to do us harm, but things innoucuous need not be feared.