To gain a crown by fighting is great, to reject it divine.
Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!
History, insofar as it accustoms human beings to comprehend the whole of the past and to hasten forward with its conclusions into the far future, conceals the boundaries of birth and death, which enclose the life of the human being so narrowly and oppressively, and with a kind of optical illusion, expands his short existence into endless space, leading the individual imperceptibly over into humanity.
Virtue has her heroes too As well as Fame and Fortune.
Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers must do service and all talents swear allegiance. In this great balance of utility, the spiritual service of art has no weight, and, deprived of all encouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time.
You worthy critics, or whatever you may call yourselves, are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and passing madness which is found in all real creators, the longer or shorter duration of which distinguishes the thinking artist from the dreamer. Hence your complaints of unfruitfulness, for you reject too soon and discriminate too severely.
The Moor has done his work, the Moor may go.
It hinders the creative work of the mind if the intellect examines too closely the ideas as they pour in.
To rankling poison hast thou turned in me the milk of human kindness.
Emulation is a noble and just passion, full of appreciation.
Obedience is the Christian's crown.
Obedience decks the Christian most.
Secrecy is for the happy,--misery, hopeless misery, needs no veil; under a thousand suns it dares act openly.
Misery travels free through the whole world!
What else is chance but the rude stone which receives its life from the sculptor's hand? Providence gives us chance, and man must mould it to his own designs.
The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows.
Youth covets; let not this covetousness seduce you.
We, we live! ours are the hours, and the living have their claims.
Never the grave gives back what it has won!
Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face.
I feel an army in my fist.
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings us, the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year.
In the ardor of pursuit men soon forget the goal from which they start.
Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven, - The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, - Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven, The habitants of earth.
The world's history is the world's judgment.
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