The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart.
Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.
Historians are prophets with their face turned backward.
Innocence has a friend in heaven.
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.
You have to go the rounds from individual to individual in order to gather the totality of the race.