Sentimental poetry differs from naive poetry in that it relates the real state at which the latter stops to ideas and applies ideas to that reality.

The lemonade is weak, like your soul.

What's old collapses, times change, And new life blossoms in the ruins.

Man is made of ordinary things, and habit is his nurse.

Have Love. Not love alone for one, but man as man they brother call; and scatter like the circling sun thy charities on all.

Wine invents nothing; it only tattles.

Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face.