The victory's in believing.

The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me.

To genius life never grows commonplace.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

It is only by instigation of the wrongs of men that what are called the Rights of Man become turbulent and dangerous.

Light is the symbol of truth.

Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.