Every life has its years in which one progresses as on a tedious and dusty street of poplars, without caring to know where he is.
Max MullerOf these years nought remains in memory but the sad feeling that we have advanced and only grown older.
Max MullerWould not the child's heart break in despair when the first cold storm of the world sweeps over it, if the warm sunlight of love from the eyes of mother and father did not shine upon him like the soft reflection of divine light and love?
Max Muller