He who does not know foreign languages does not know anything about his own.
The little that is completed, vanishes from the sight of one who looks forward to what is still to do.
Die Zeit ist selbst ein Element. Time is itself an element.
The effects of good music are not just because it's new; on the contrary music strikes us more the more familiar we are with it.
If ever the Divine appeared on earth, it was in the person of Christ.
The flowers of life are but illusions. How many fade away and leave no trace.
Woe to him who would ascribe something like reason to Chance, and make a religion of surrendering to it.
The greatest act of faith takes place when a man finally decides that he is not God.
Sowing is not as difficult as reaping.
Time does not relinquish its rights, either over human beings or over mountains.
What a mighty spirit in a narrow bosom. [Ger., Welch' hoher Geist in einer engen Brust.]
Self-love exaggerates our faults as well as our virtues.
Strike the dog dead, it's but a critic!
If the world does improve on the whole, yet youth must always begin anew, and go through the stages of culture from the beginning.
All that is noble is in itself of a quiet nature, and appears to sleep until it is aroused and summoned forth by contrast.
Who strives always to the utmost, him can we save.
All theory, my friend, is grey, But green is life's glad golden tree.
Reason looks at necessity as the basis of the world; reason is able to turn chance in your favor and use it. Only by having reasonremain strong and unshakable can we be called a god of the earth.
Even though the world as a whole progresses, youth must always start again from the beginning, and as individuals go through the epochs of the world's culture.
Thus one can observe that those who proclaim piety as their goal and purpose usually turn into hypocrites.
Only he who finds empiricism irksome is driven to method.
The Evil One has left, the evil ones remain.
Presents at once? That's good. He is sure to succeed.
Yet he who grasps the moment's gift, He is the proper man.
Over the trackless past, somewhere, Lie the lost days of our tropic youth, Only regained by faith and prayer, Only recalled by prayer and plaint, Each lost day has its patron saint!
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