The wind of revolutions is not tractable.
Strong and rare natures are thus created; misery, almost always a stepmother, is sometimes a mother; privation gives birth to power of soul and mind; distress is the nurse of self-respect; misfortune is a good breast for great souls.
Earnestness is the salt of eloquence.
The wicked envy and hate; it is their way of admiring.
Poetry contains philosophy as the soul contains reason.
Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions