Love wants to be confirmed with concrete symbols, but recklessness loves instability.

In the long run, only woman remains true to mankind's foremost mission. Whatever she achieves, she achieves through herself, and alone. Man's master is the--public.

Woman is the crown of all creation, but Man is the head who wears it, and even the servant is master in his house.

What a pathetic creature is man! His senses are awakened by the hope for the very thing whose consummation puts him to sleep.

Dilettantes appreciate the work, professors the master at the same time.

What is done for the children is doubly beneficial, since their success, obvious to everyone, educates the parents as well.

Man will return to his origins. Goethe has finally become as squiggly as the city of his fathers.