The Great Morning which is for all, rises in the East.

The tragedy of human life consists in our vain attempts to stretch the limits of things which can never become unlimited, to reach the infinite by absurdly adding to the rungs of the ladder of the finite.

We manage to swallow flesh, only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do.

The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength. Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom. Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.