How happy he who can still hope to lift himself from this sea of error! What we know not, that we are anxious to possess, and cannot use what we know.

Neither art thou the man to catch the fiend and hold him! [Ger., Du bist noch nicht der Mann den Teufel festzuhalten.

How often do I lull my seething blood to rest, for you have never seen anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as this heart.

Art is long, life is short; judgement difficult, opportunity transient.

Nature has neither core nor skin: she’s both at once outside and in.

The sea is flowing ever, The land retains it never.

Talents are nurtured best in solitude, But character on life's tempestuous seas!