The Mortal Race Is Far Too Weak

Hypotheses Are Lullabies For Teachers To Sing Their Students To Sleep.

Assuredly There Is No More Lovely Worship Of God Than That For Which No Image Is Required, But Which Springs Up In Our Breast Spontaneously When Nature Speaks To The Soul, And The Soul Speaks To Nature Face To Face.

It Is In Vain That A Man Of Sound Mind And Cool Temper Understands The Condition Of Such A Wretched Being... He Can No More Communicate His Own Wisdom To Him Than A Healthy Man Can Instil His Strength Into The Invalid By Whose Bedside He Is Seated.

And Future Deeds Crowded Round Us As The Countless Stars In The Night. [ger., Und Kunftige Thaten Drangen Wie Die Sterne Rings Um Uns Her Unzahlig Aus Der Nacht.]

Lamps Make Oil-spots And Candles Need Snuffing; It Is Only The Light Of Heaven That Shines Pure And Leaves No Stain.