When he rose, the artist was gazing with silent reverence at the jester's features; Ulrich followed his eyes, and imagined he was standing in the presence of a miracle, for the harsh, bitter, troubled face had obtained a new expression, and was now the countenance of a peaceful, kindly man, who had fallen asleep with pleasant memories in his heart.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor
Once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point
To expect gratitude is folly
Whoever condemns, feels himself superior