With Few Words I Shall Make Thee

There Is No Greater Harm Than That Of Time Wasted.

If It Be True That Any Beautiful Thing Raises The Pure And Just Desire Of Man From Earth To God, The Eternal Fount Of All, Such I Believe My Love.

I Live In Sin, To Kill Myself I Live; No Longer My Life My Own, But Sin's; My Good Is Given To Me By Heaven, My Evil By Myself, By My Free Will, Of Which I Am Deprived.

Genius Is Infinite Painstaking.

What Spirit Is So Empty And Blind, That It Cannot Recognize The Fact That The Foot Is More Noble Than The Shoe, And Skin More Beautiful Than The Garment With Which It Is Clothed?