Truth makes on the ocean of nature no one track of light; every eye, looking on, finds its own.

Alas! must it ever be so? Do we stand in our own light, wherever we go, And fight our own shadows forever?

Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem.

Rest is sweet after strife.

Only by knowledge of that which is not thyself, shall thyself be learned.

The world is a nettle; disturb it, it stings. Grasp it firmly, it stings not.

Be it jewel or toy, not the prize gives the joy, but the striving to win the prize.