Hope is the second soul of the unhappy.

Sing it not in mournful numbers.

Those who have no hope for a future life are already dead for the present one.

That we understand something perfectly, that we accomplish something better than anyone else around us, that is what matters.

As beauteous is the world, and many a joy Floats through its wide dominion. But, alas, When we would seize the winged good, it flies.

To hard necessity ones will and fancy must conform.

This world could not exist if it were not so simple. The ground has been tilled a thousand years, yet its powers remain ever the same; a little rain, a little sun, and each spring it grows green again.