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.
In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs.
The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies.
Great souls endure in silence.
The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it.
O God, how lovely still is life!