Let no one despair, even though in the darkest night the last star of hope may disappear.
Man is never so authentically himself as when at play.
Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair.
There is no solitude in nature.
Time consecrates; and what is gray with age becomes religion.
A noble soul spreads even over a face in which the architectonic beauty is wanting an irresistible grace, and a often even triumphs over the natural disfavor.