I feel an army in my fist.
Chains of iron or of silk-both are chains.
What is life without the radiance of love?
It is often wise to reveal that which cannot be concealed for long.
Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.
Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.