It Would Be Necessary That

Sorrow Is Brief But Joy Is Endless

O God, How Lovely Still Is Life!

Heaven And Earth Fight In Vain Against A Dunce!

Let Him That Sows The Serpent's Teeth Not Hope To Reap A Joyous Harvest. Every Crime Has, In The Moment Of Its Perpetration, Its Own Avenging Angel,--dark Misgivings At The Inmost Heart.

When The Measured Dance Of The Hours Brings Back The Happy Smile Of Spring, The Buried Dead Is Born Again In The Life-glance Of The Sun. The Germs Which Perished To The Eye Within The Cold Breast Of The Earth Spring Up With Joy In The Bright Realm Of Day.