As for what I have done as a poet, I take no pride in whatever. Excellent poets have lived at the same time with me, poets more excellent lived before me, and others will come after me. But that in my country I am the only person who knows the truth in the difficult science of colors-of that, I say, I am not a little proud, and here have a consciousness of superiority to many.
Taste is only to be educated by contemplation, not of the tolerably good but of the truly excellent.
Architecture is crystallized music.
Faith is hidden household capital.
That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, earn it anew if thou wouldst possess it.
Art is a mediator of the unspeakable.
The happiest man is the one who finds happiness at home.
No limit, no definition, may restrict the range or depth of the human spirit's passage into its own secrets or the world's.
In art it's not the thinking that does the job, but making.
It is working within limits that the craftsman reveals himself.
When one is polite in German, one lies.
I will say with Lorenzo de Medici that those who do not hope for another life are always dead to this one.
He who has a task to perform must know how to take sides, or he is quite unworthy of it.
Superstition is the poetry of life.
Let mental culture go on advancing, let the natural sciences progress in even greater extent and depth, and the human mind widen itself as much as it desires: beyond the elevation and moral culture of Christianity, as it shines forth in the Gospels, it will not go.
I wait for the morning of my tears
The highest goal that man can achieve is amazement.
two souls, alas, are housed within my breast, and each will wrestle for the mastery there.
A word spoken is a terrible thing when it suddenly utters what the heart has long allowed.
Everything transitory is but an image.
One should not search for anything behind the phenomena. They themselves are the message.
When scholars study a thing, they strive to kill it first, if it's alive; then they have the parts and the'be lost the whole, for the link that's missing was the living soul.
Beware of her fair hair, for she excels All women in the magic of her locks; And when she winds them round a young man's neck, She will not ever set him free again.
When she sees the leaves fall, they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is approaching.
Would you require a wretched being, whose life is slowly wasting under a lingering disease, to despatch himself at once by the stroke of a dagger? Does not the very disorder which consumes his strength deprive him of the courage to effect his deliverance?
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