Honest people don't hide their deeds.
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
I see heaven's glories shine and faith shines equal.
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.
I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide.
The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
If I could I would always work in silence and obscurity, and let my efforts be known by their results.