A house with a great wine stored below lives in our imagination as a joyful house, fast and splendidly rooted in the soil.
The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.
The debts we owe ourselves are the hardest to pay.
Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two.
What a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life!
Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars.