If our inward griefs were seen written on our brow, how many would be pitied who are now envied! [It., Se a ciascun l'interno affanno Si leggesse in fronte scritto, Quanti mai, che invidia fanno, Ci farebbero pieta!].
Love is a feeling that comes into our hearts of our own choice for neither force nor harshness can limit the heart's freedom.
The pilot who is always dreading a rock or a tempest must not complain if he remain a poor fisherman. We must at times trust, something to fortune, for fortune has often some share in what happens.
Every noble acquisition is attended with its risks; he who fears to encounter the one must not expect to obtain the other.
The aged oak upon the steep stands more firm and secure if assailed by angry winds; for if the winter bares its head, the more strongly it strikes its roots into the ground, acquiring strength as it loses beauty.
The eye that gazes upon the sun sees not the orb it looks upon, confounded by the excess of its brightness.
Cowards' weapons neither cut nor pierce.
If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity?
Fortune is the best school of courage when she is fraught with anger, in the same way as winds and tempests are the school of the sailorboy.
If you wish to behold God, you may see Him in every object around; search in your breast, and you will find Him there. And if you do not yet perceive where He dwells, confute me, if you can, and say where He is not.
It is the just decree of Heaven that a traitor never sees his danger till his ruin is at hand.
High birth is an accident, not a virtue.
Sharp and fell remorse, the offspring of my sin! Why do you, O God, lacerate my heart so late? Why, O boding cries, that scream so close to me,--why do I listen to you now, and never heard you before?
It is by no means a fact that death is the worst of all evils; when it comes it is an alleviation to mortals who are worn out with sufferings.
Though the Indian ocean abounds in rich and rare gems, it does not boast a clearer sky nor more unruffled sea. If there be a shore that dreads not the fury of the faithless billows, it is some poor and narrow inlet unknown to the winds.
If our inward griefs were written on our brows, how many who are envied now would be pitied. It would seem that they had their deadliest foe in their own breast, and their whole happiness would be reduced to mere seeming.
Of all faults the greatest is the excess of impious terror, dishonoring divine grace. He who despairs wants love, wants faith; for faith, hope, and love are three torches which blend their light together, nor does the one shine without the other.
We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is a rock; the whole life is a wide ocean. Reason is the pilot to guide us, but often allows itself to be led astray by the storms of pride.
How full of error is the judgment of mankind! They wonder at results when they are ignorant of the reasons
Prepare thy soul calmly to obey; such offering will be more acceptable to God than every other sacrifice.
The canker which the trunk conceals is revealed by the leaves, the fruit, or the flower.
The bee and the serpent often sip from the selfsame flower.
An old warrior is never in haste to strike the blow.
If every man's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?
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