There is a nobility in the world of manners.

Happy he who learns to bear what he cannot change.

Joy all creatures drink At nature's bosoms.

A merely fallen enemy may rise again, but the reconciled one is truly vanquished.

Why should I deem myself to be a chisel, when I could be the artist?

As noble Art has survived noble nature, so too she marches ahead of it, fashioning and awakening by her inspiration. Before Truth sends her triumphant light into the depths of the heart, imagination catches its rays, and the peaks of humanity will be glowing when humid night still lingers in the valleys.

To the fool-king belongs the world.