Gray Hairs Are Death's Blossoms.

A Noble Heart Will Always Capitulate To Reason.

The Mountain Cannot Frighten One Who Was Born On It.

We, We Live! Ours Are The Hours, And The Living Have Their Claims.

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 At The Approach Of Extreme Danger When A Hollow Puppet Can Accomplish Nothing, That Power Falls Into The Mighty Hands Of Nature, Of The Spirit Giant-born, Who Listens Only To Himself, And Knows Nothing Of Compacts.