Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.
What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough: for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.
In this treacherous world Nothing is the truth nor a lie. Everything depends on the color Of the crystal through which one sees it
Light-enchanted sunflower, thou
Who gazest ever true and tender
On the sun's revolving splendour.
For man's greatest crime is to have been born.
When love is not madness, it is not love.
Speak no evil of women; I tell thee the meanest of them deserves respect; for of women do we not all come?
No windows give a better view than those a man brings with him in his head, not asking for tickets of admission, since at all functions, festivals, or feasts he looks out with the same nice self-composure.
But whether it be dream or truth, to do well is what matters. If it be truth, for truth's sake. If not, then to gain friends for the time when we awaken.
Restless sunflower; cease to move.
For even in dreams a good deed is not lost.
Our treasures trifles seem, and all our life is dreaming, and the dreams themselves are dreams.
Even in dreams doing good is not wasted.
All life is a dream, and all dreams are dreams.
The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.
Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; -Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutory rein Of reason, and the grinding will of man.
One may know how to gain a victory, and know not how to use it.
How surely a knowledge of the world hardens the heart!
A woman needs a stronger head than her own for counsel--she should marry.
These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.
If a pretty woman only knew how anger improved her beauty! Her complexion needs no other paint than indignation.
Tis not where we lie but whence we fell; the loss of Heaven's the greatest pain in Hell.
The dower of great beauty has always been misfortune, since happiness and beauty do not agree together.
At the point when affection is not frenzy, it is not adore.
Grief has been compared to a hydra; for every one that dies, two are born.
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