Menu
We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.
Hope is the struggle of the soul, breaking loose from what is perishable, and attesting her eternity.
Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
There are times when even the most potent governor must wink at transgression, in order to preserve the laws inviolate for the future.
Old age is always wakeful as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death.
Art is the objectification of feeling.