Read as little as possible of literary criticism - such things are either partisan opinions, which have become petrified and meaningless, hardened and empty of life, or else they are just clever word-games, in which one view wins today, and tomorrow the opposite view. Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism.
"Letters to a Young Poet". Book by Rainer Maria Rilke. Letter Three (April 23, 1903), 1929.
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