Time flies, and what is past is done.

Man cannot persist long in a conscious state, he must throw himself back into the unconscious, for his root lives there.

You don't love if you don't take the beloved's faults for virtues.

Two souls dwell, alas! in my breast.

The soul-stirring image of death is no bugbear to the sage, and is looked on without despair by the pious. It teaches the former to live, and it strengthens the hopes of the latter in salvation in the midst of distress. Death is new life to both.

Our destiny often looks like a fruit-tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs could next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know it.

He who possesses science and art, Possesses religion as well; He who possesses neither of these, Had better have religion.