Chains of iron or of silk-both are chains.
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings us, the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year.
He who never ventures beyond actuality will never win the prize of truth.
Will it, and set to work briskly.
A deep meaning often lies in old customs.
The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error.