O God, how lovely still is life!

Even the weak become strong when they are united.

Sentimental poetry differs from naive poetry in that it relates the real state at which the latter stops to ideas and applies ideas to that reality.

In a narrow circle the mind grows narrow. The more one expands, the larger their aims.

Have Hope. Though clouds environs now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, - No night but hath its morn.

O God, how lovely still is life!

The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart.