The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies.

A virtuous name is the precious only good, for which queens and peasants' wives must contest together.

When the measured dance of the hours brings back the happy smile of spring, the buried dead is born again in the life-glance of the sun. The germs which perished to the eye within the cold breast of the earth spring up with joy in the bright realm of day.

Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.

Against stupidity, God Himself fights in vain.

No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, who's made the master of his destiny.

Culture, far from giving us freedom, only develops, as it advances, new necessities; the fetters of the physical close more tightly around us, so that the fear of loss quenches even the ardent impulse toward improvement, and the maxims of passive obedience are held to be the highest wisdom of life.