Against Stupidity, God Himself Fights In Vain.

Not Without A Shudder May The Human Hand Reach Into The Mysterious Urn Of Destiny.

That Which Is So Universal As Death Must Be A Benefit.

Soon Is The Struggle Past, And To The Earth, To The Eternal Sun, I Render Back These Atoms, Joined In Me For Pain And Pleasure.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Day's Lustrous Eyes Grow Heavy In Sweet Death.