Man Must Strive, And Striving He Must

Nature Is So Perfect That The Trinity Couldn't Have Fashioned Her Any More Perfect. She Is An Organ On Which Our Lord Plays And The Devil Works The Bellows.

Could We Perfect Human Nature, We Might Also Expect A Perfect State Of Things.

Too Rigid Scruples Are Concealed Pride.

Over All The Mountain Tops Is Peace. In All Treetops You Perceive Scarcely A Breath. The Little Birds In The Forest Are Silent. Wait Then; Soon, You Too, Will Have Peace.

Talent Is Nurtured In Solitude; Character Is Formed In The Stormy Billows Of The World. [ger., Es Bildet Ein Talent Sich In Der Stille, Sich Ein Charakter In Dem Strom Der Welt.]