“God is an unutterable sigh, planted in the depths of the soul.”
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The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.
Like a morning dream, life becomes more and more bright the longer we live, and the reason of everything appears more clear. What has puzzled us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter as we approach the end.
Sorrows are like thunderclouds, in the distance they look black, over our heads scarcely gray.
The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.
