Innocence Has A Friend In Heaven.

Revenge Is Barren Of Itself: It Is The Dreadful Food It Feeds On; Its Delight Is Murder, And Its End Is Despair.

Disappointments Are To The Soul What A Thunderstorm Is To The Air.

Great Souls Suffer In Silence.

The Dignity Of Man Into Your Hands Is Given; Oh, Keep It Well, With You It Sinks Or Lifts Itself To Heaven.

I Speak With The Eternal Through The Instrument Of Nature, Through The World's History: I Read The Soul Of The Artist In His Apollo.