Virtue Has Her Heroes Too As Well

I Know That We Often Tremble At An Empty Terror; Yet The False Fancy Brings A Real Misery.

Have Love. Not Love Alone For One, But Man As Man They Brother Call; And Scatter Like The Circling Sun Thy Charities On All.

The Moor Has Done His Work, The Moor May Go.

He Who Considers Too Much Will Perform Little.

Doch Zittre Vor Der Langsamen, Der Stillen Macht Der Zeit. Yet Tremble At The Slow, Silent Power Of Time.