Feelings Of Man Are Always Pure And

With So Many Thousand Joys, Is It Not Black Ingratitude To Call The World A Place Of Sorrow And Torment?

Each Departed Friend Is A Magnet That Attracts Us To The Next World.

Sorrows Are Like Thunderclouds, In The Distance They Look Black, Over Our Heads Scarcely Gray.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

In Later Life, As In Earlier, Only A Few Persons Influence The Formation Of Our Character; The Multitude Pass Us By Like A Distant Army. One Friend, One Teacher, One Beloved, One Club, One Dining Table, One Work Table Are The Means By Which One's Nation And The Spirit Of One's Nation Affect The Individual.