Your fame is as the grass, whose hue comes and goes, and His might withers it by whose power it sprang from the lap of the earth.

Beauty awakens the soul to act.

O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?

The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.

This mountain is so formed that it is always wearisome when one begins the ascent, but becomes easier the higher one climbs.

What shall one do with the verse, if he knows not That?

Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.