The Talent Of Making Friends

A Conquering King Will Banish From His Breast Hatred Towards One Whom He No Longer Fears.

Sometimes Blood, For The Sake Of Sparing It, Is Spilled.

There Is A Silence, The Child Of Love, Which Expresses Everything, And Proclaims More Loudly Than The Tongue Is Able To Do; There Are Movements That Are Involuntary Proofs Of What The Soul Feels.

For 'tis Impossible Hate To Return With Love.

Joy, When It Is Excessive, Overcomes As Much As Grief.