'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers; vanity can give, No hollow aid; alone - man with God must strive.
Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand.
Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.