Romanticism Is Beauty Without Bounds-the

What Cicero Said Of Men-that They Are Like Wines, Age Souring The Bad, And Bettering The Good-we Can Say Of Misfortune, That It Has The Same Effect Upon Them.

I Have Made As Much Out Of Myself As Could Be Made Of The Stuff, And No Man Should Require More.

Joys Are Our Wings, Sorrows Our Spurs.

The Miracle On Earth Are The Laws Of Heaven.

Like A Morning Dream, Life Becomes More And More Bright The Longer We Live, And The Reason Of Everything Appears More Clear. What Has Puzzled Us Before Seems Less Mysterious, And The Crooked Paths Look Straighter As We Approach The End.