The brave person thinks of himself last of all.

Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair.

Satisfy a few to please many is bad.

Even now, nature is the only flame, on which the poetic spirit feeds; from it alone it draws all its power, to it alone it speaks even in the artificial, in the man engaged in culture.

Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face.

Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!

Mankind is made great or little by its own will.