I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

The common problem, yours, mine, everyone's Is ? not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be ? but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means.

Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

I hold that a man should strive to the uttermost for his life's set prize.

Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies.

Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!

Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts.