No One Would Talk Much In Society

Whoever Gives Himself Up To Solitude, Ah! He Is Soon Alone.

Everything In The World May Be Endured, Except Only A Succession Of Prosperous Days. [ger., Alles In Der Welt Lasst Sich Ertragen, Nur Nicht Eine Reihe Von Schonen Tagen.]

Sometimes Our Fate Resembles A Fruit Tree In Winter. Who Would Think That Those Branches Would Turn Green Again And Blossom, But We Hope It, We Know It.

It Is Not Doing The Thing We Like To Do, But Liking The Thing We Have To Do, That Makes Life Blessed.

A Good Man, Through Obscurest Aspirations Has Still An Instinct Of The One True Way.