Truth exists for the wise, beauty for the feeling heart.

Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings us, the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year.

Mankind is made great or little by its own will.

Intellect--brain force.

Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth.

Whatever lives, lives to die in sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world, only to undergo the pang of losing them.

Virtue, though clothed in a beggar's garb, commands respect.