The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they'd immediately go out.

How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?

Man was made for joy and woe, and when this we rightly know through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, a clothing for the soul to bind.

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.