Without a notion of the transcendental, human beings would, indeed, be animals; however, only fools can be convinced of it, and only degenerates need such a conviction.

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

Ideas are not thoughts; the thought respects the boundaries that the idea ignores thereby failing to realize itself.

This searching and doubting and vacillating where nothing is clear but the arrogance of quest. I, too, had such noble ideas when I was still a boy.

The manifestation of poetry in external life is formal perfection. True sentiment grows within, and art must represent internal phenomena externally.

At certain times, men regard poetry merely as a bright flame, but to women it was, and always will be, a warm fire.

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.