I notice well that one stray step from the habitual path leads irresistibly into a new direction. Life moves forward, it never reverses its course.
If someone took the finest marble and knew how to shape it artfully: Prometheus' material was lowly clay, but his statues walked.
Man lives two lives, woe, were it otherwise! One is seized by death, the other one, his honor, remains.
How frightening it is to have reached the height of human accomplishment in art that must forever borrow from life's abundance.
The manifestation of poetry in external life is formal perfection. True sentiment grows within, and art must represent internal phenomena externally.
Who claims that the heathen's view of the world is incorrect? Life gives you nothing! It is ruled by false gods! Nothing remains true to you but your own self; provided you remain true to it.
