Fate loves the fearless.
In life's small things be resolute and great To keep thy muscle trained; Know'st thou when Fate Thy measure takes, or when she'll say to thee, "I find thee worthy; do this deed for me?"
Life seems a jest of Fate's contriving.
The wisest man could ask no more of fate Than to be simple, modest, manly, true, Safe from the many, honored by the few; Nothing to court in Church, or World, or State, But inwardly in secret to be great.
Fate loves best such syllables as are sweet and sonorous on the tongue.
Who is it needs such flawless shafts as fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, or hits the white so surely?
The purely Great Whose soul no siren passion could unsphere, Thou nameless, now a power and mixed with fate.
Granting our wish is one of Fate's saddest jokes.
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