Wisdom Is Found Only In Truth.

Our Destiny Often Looks Like A Fruit-tree In Winter. Who Would Think From Its Pitiable Aspect That Those Rigid Boughs, Those Rough Twigs Could Next Spring Again Be Green, Bloom, And Even Bear Fruit? Yet We Hope It, We Know It.

The History Of Science Is Science Itself; The History Of The Individual, The Individual.

We Are Our Own Aptest Deceiver.

A Wounded Heart Can With Difficulty Be Cured. [ger., Doch Ein Gekranktes Herz Erholt Sich Schwer.]

Piety, Like Nobility, Has Its Aristocracy.