In the arts, foolhardiness is always harmful; even worse, however, is clumsiness.

Piety is the fermentation of the forming mind and the putrefaction of the disintegrating one.

Pity, but never love bestows kind words upon the slave.

Why do comparisons of words and tone poems (poetry and music) never take into consideration that the word is a mere signifier, but that the sound, aside from being a signifier, is also an object?

To test a modest man's modesty do not investigate if he ignores applause, find out if he abides criticism.

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.

Why does the past look so enticing to us? For the same reason why from a distance a meadow with flowers looks like a flower bed.