Weep, for the light is dead.
Time consecrates; and what is gray with age becomes religion.
Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair.
It is through beauty that we arrive at freedom.
If you would attain to your highest, go look upon a flower;what the flower does willessly, that do willingly.
In the ardor of pursuit men soon forget the goal from which they start.