For the world is only governed by self-interest.
Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth.
The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows.
Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.
It is often wise to reveal that which cannot be concealed for long.
Futurity is impregnable to mortal ken: no prayer pierces through heaven's adamantine walls. Whether the birds fly right or left, whatever be the aspect of the stars, the book of nature is a maze, dreams are a lie, and every sign a falsehood.