No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, who's made the master of his destiny.
Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.
Appearance should never attain reality, And if nature conquers, then must art retire.
The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it.
Sorrows must die with the joys they outnumber.
A merely fallen enemy may rise again, but the reconciled one is truly vanquished.