I looked back at the summit of the mountain, which seemed but a cubit high in comparison with the height of human contemplation, were in not too often merged in the corruptions of the earth.

Death is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.

Who naught suspects is easily deceived.

Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together.

And tears are heard within the harp I touch.

The greater I am, the greater shall be my efforts.

Often on earth the gentlest heart is fain To feed and banquet on another's woe.