The People Rate Strength Before

The Soul-stirring Image Of Death Is No Bugbear To The Sage, And Is Looked On Without Despair By The Pious. It Teaches The Former To Live, And It Strengthens The Hopes Of The Latter In Salvation In The Midst Of Distress. Death Is New Life To Both.

Our Wishes Are Presentiments Of The Abilities That Lie In Us, Harbingers Of What We Will Be Able To Accomplish.

Certain Flaws Are Necessary For The Whole. It Would Seem Strange If Old Friends Lacked Certain Quirks.

The Web Of This World Is Woven Of Necessity And Chance. Woe To Him Who Has Accustomed Himself From His Youth Up To Find Something Necessary In What Is Capricious, And Who Would Ascribe Something Like Reason To Chance And Make A Religion Of Surrendering To It.

At All Times It Has Not Been The Age, But Individuals Alone, Who Have Worked For Knowledge. It Was The Age Which Put Socrates To Death By Poison, The Age Which Burnt Huss. The Ages Have Always Remained Alike.