I know that we often tremble at an empty terror; yet the false fancy brings a real misery.
The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.
I feel an army in my fist.
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.
The history of the world is the world's court of justice.
Love guides the stars towards each other, the world plan endures only through love.