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.

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

Those whom the gods chose as their property must not consort with mortals.

The graceful flowers of innocence are more valuable than the laurel crown of fame.

The plot! The plot! What kind of plot could a poet possibly provide that is not surpassed by the thinking, feeling reader? Form alone is divine.

The noble woman is half a man, even a complete one. Only their imperfections make them women.

Captivating the spirit of the age is a matter of great talent; being swept away by it characterizes an average mind. The two are as different from one another as activity and passivity.