A Victory (n.) that is certain is poverty: even Jupiter doubts his conquests and would not wish otherwise; Don Juan is always victorious, and that is precisely his poverty.
A Victory (n.) is not desired over the beloved: while we fight it is undetermined who is stronger; when she surrenders as the weaker, I do not want to be present — I am prouder on her account than on mine.
A Victory (n.) is perhaps the most difficult moment: the cry “everything is decided” may mean “everything is lost,” for only one who has won everything can lose everything.
A Victory (n.) can bring a calm that the one who pressed victoriously against the storm cannot endure, as one who lifts a weight cannot always hold it up.
A Victory (n.) is always twofold in spiritual terms — the first, and the second that preserves it; the worldly speaks of one victory, the godly always of two.
A Victory (n.) is kept only by giving God the honor at the very moment of triumph: then God, not the opposition, becomes the support by which one stands — folly to the world, to need God most after one has won.
A Victory (n.) leaves the conquering nature at a loss: when the last shot dies away, he knows nothing more and knows not how to begin — for only then is he at the true beginning.
A Victory (n.) breeds anxiety in inverse ratio to its distance: the nearer one comes, the more there is to lose.
Victory (n.) is not the end: some overcame everything and failed in the moment of victory; the task is, having overcome, to stand.
Victory (n.) that is certain whether or not you get what you wished looks to the impatient exactly like defeat.
Victory (n.) can be outdone: to be more than a conqueror is to turn the enemy into a friend before the fight begins.