If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor.

The nearer the dawn the darker the night.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

You would attain to the divine perfection.

The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.