I am a woman, and even if I could proceed with harshness and rigidity, it would disgust me nonetheless.

Schiller moves upward. Goethe comes from up above.

Human life, old and young, takes place between hope and remembrance. The young man sees all the gates to his desires open, and the old man remembers--his hopes.

I would love to be able to write a tragedy in my imagination--it would turn into a masterpiece.

Since love is folly, a foolish woman is more dangerous than a wise one.

The present is never poetic as it serves necessity, necessity, however, is prosaic.

If we notice a few errors in the work of a proven master, we may and even will often be correct; if we believe, however, that he is completely and utterly mistaken, we are in danger of missing his entire concept.