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

Nothing, it is true, is more common than for both Science and Art to pay homage to the spirit of the age, and for creative taste to accept the law of critical taste.

Weep, for the light is dead.

There is no solitude in nature.

The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.

Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.

The strong man is strongest when alone.