If They Say "you Have Your Last

Man Is Born Barbarous--he Is Ransomed From The Condition Of Beasts Only By Being Cultivated.

There Are Places And Climates, Seasons And Hours, With Their Outward Circumstance, So Much In Harmony With Certain Impressions Of The Heart, That Nature And The Soul Of Man Appear To Be Parts Of One Vast Whole.

History Teaches Everything, Even The Future.

What Mortal Is There, Over Whose First Joys And Happiness Does Not Break Some Storm, Dispelling With Its Icy Breath His Fanciful Illusions, And Shattering His Altar?

He, Who Can Create, Abhors Destruction.