“Fate hath no voice but the heart’s impulse.”

I follow my heart, for I can trust it.

I know that we often tremble at an empty terror; yet the false fancy brings a real misery.

Great souls endure in silence.

He who neglects the present moment throws away all he has.

When you are not happy with your life, always think that someone is happy simply because you exist.

The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart.

Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.

Many a smiling face hides a mourning heart; but grief alone teaches us what we are.

There is no solitude in nature.

Nothing leads to good that is not natural.

We must bear what Heaven sends.

Friends show me what I can do, foes teach me what I should do.

The history of the world is the world’s court of justice.

Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny.

Sentimental poetry differs from naive poetry in that it relates the real state at which the latter stops to ideas and applies ideas to that reality.

It is often wise to reveal that which cannot be concealed for long.

Nothing, including human suffering, happens by chance.

He who has calmly reconciled his life to fate, and set proud death beneath his feet, can look fortune in the face, unbending both to good and bad; his countenance unconquered.

Woe to the dupe that yields to Fate!

Living Life Tomorrow’s fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise; Pass, therefore, not today in vain, For it will never come again.

Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel’d by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

Human beings suffer agonies, and their sad fates become legends; poets write verses about them and playwrights compose dramas, and the remembrance of past grief becomes a source of present pleasure – such is the strange alchemy of the spirit.

How come anything you buy will go on sale next week?

I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night.