Thus Arm In Arm With Thee I

Man Is Made Of Ordinary Things, And Habit Is His Nurse.

O That It Might Remain Eternally Green, The Beautiful Time Of Youthful Love.

The Great Happiness Of Life, I Find, After All, To Consist In The Regular Discharge Of Some Mechanical Duty.

He Who Considers Too Much Will Perform Little.

A Sublime Soul Can Rise To All Kinds Of Greatness, But By An Effort; It Can Tear Itself From All Bondage, To All That Limits And Constrains It, But Only By Strength Of Will. Consequently The Sublime Soul Is Only Free By Broken Efforts.