In Nature Nothing Can Be Given. All

He, Who Loves The Bristle Of Bayonets, Only Sees In Their Glitter What Beforehand He Feels In His Hand.

Sleep Takes Off The Costume Of Circumstance, Arms Us With Terrible Freedom, So That Every Will Rushes To A Deed.

Yet These Uneasy Pleasures And Fine Pains Are For Curiosity, And Not For Life.

Books Are The Best Of Things, Well Used; Abused, Among The Worst...they Are For Nothing But To Inspire.

We Are Always Getting Ready To Live But Never Living.