The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite.
Ah, if the rich were rich as the poor fancy riches.
Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.
All things are moral. That soul, which within us is a sentiment, outside of us is a law. We feel its inspiration; out there in history we can see its fatal strength.
Sitting back in the evening, stargazing and stroking your dog, is an infallible remedy.
Pain is superficial, and therefore fear is. The torments of martyrdoms are probably most keenly felt by the by-standers.