There Is No Book In The World

It Is The Heart That Makes The Critic, Not The Nose.

I Know Well There Is No Comfort For This Pain Of Parting. The Wound Always Remains, But One Learns To Bear The Pain, And Learns To Thank God For What He Gave. For The Beautiful Memories Of The Past, And The Yet More Beautiful Hope For The Future.

When The Evil Deed, After It Has Become Known, Brings Sorrow To The Fool, Then It Destroys His Bright Lot, Nay, It Cleaves His Head.

What Ought To Be Done Is Neglected, What Ought Not To Be Done Is Done; The Desires Of Unruly, Thoughtless People Are Always Increasing.

Yes, Now I Understood For The First Time That My Soul Was Not So Poor And Empty As It Had Seemed To Me, And That It Had Been Only The Sun That Was Lacking To Open All Its Germs, And Buds To The Light.