It is through beauty that we arrive at freedom.
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.
An axe at home saves hiring a carpenter.
Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.
The voice of the majority is no proof of justice.
Man is made of ordinary things, and habit is his nurse.