O who knows what slumbers in the background of the times?
The voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all events to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The course of events has given a direction to the genius of the time that threatens to remove it continually further from the ideal of art. For art has to leave reality, it has to raise itself bodily above necessity and neediness; for art is the daughter of freedom, and it requires its prescriptions and rules to be furnished by the necessity of spirits and not by that of matter.
Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.
Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.
It would be necessary that they should be already sages to love wisdom...
No, no! I do nature injustice. She gave us inventive faculty, and set us naked, and helpless on the shore of this great ocean,--the world; swim those who can, the heavy may go to the bottom.
Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.
What shall he fear that does not fear death.
Let him that sows the serpent's teeth not hope to reap a joyous harvest. Every crime has, in the moment of its perpetration, its own avenging angel,--dark misgivings at the inmost heart.
While the womanly god demands our veneration, the godlike woman kindles our love; but while we allow ourselves to melt in the celestial loveliness, the celestial self-sufficiency holds us back in awe.
Time is a blooming field: nature is ever teeming with life: and all is seed, and all is fruit.
The world is ruled only by consideration of advantages.
Full of wisdom are the ordinations of fate.
Everlastingly chained to a single little fragment of the Whole, man himself develops into nothing but a fragment; everlastingly in his ear the monotonous sound of the wheel that he turns, he never develops the harmony of his being, and instead of putting the stamp of humanity upon his own nature, he becomes nothing more than the imprint of his occupation or of his specialized knowledge.
Deep meaning lies often in childish play.
Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.
Man ever talks, and Man ever dreams Of better days that are yet to be, After glittering goal, that distant gleams, Running and racing untiringly. The worldly may grow old and young as it will, But the Hope of man is Improvement still. Hope bears him into life in her arms, She flutters around the boy's young bloom, The soul of youth with her magic warms, Nor rests with age in the silent tomb; For ends man his weary course at the grave, There plants he Hope o'er his ashes to wave.
Measure not by the scale of perfection the meager product of reality.
The May of life blooms once and never again.
I am called The richest monarch in the Christian world; The sun in my dominion never sets.
Glory to Women! They weave and entwine heavenly roses into an earthly life.
Song forbids victorious deeds to die.
To be man's tender mate was woman born, and in obeying nature she best serves the purposes of heaven.
To know thyself--in others self-concern; Would'st thou know others? read thyself--and learn!
Seraphs share with thee Knowledge; but Art, O Man, is thine alone!
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