If Self-knowledge Is The Road To Virtue,

There Is A Joy In Sorrow Which None But A Mourner Can Know.

Flowers Never Emit So Sweet And Strong A Fragrance As Before A Storm. When A Storm Approaches Thee, Be As Fragrant As A Sweet-smelling Flower.

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.

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

No Heroine Can Create A Hero Through Love Of One, But She Can Give Birth To One