When the theater gates open, a mob pours inside, and it is the poet's task to turn it into an audience.

Those who want to row on the ocean of human knowledge do not get far, and the storm drives those out of their course who set sail.

A heart that overflows may seek out merrymaking and boisterous festivities to quietly rejoice, unnoticed amidst the reveling crowds.

History is the zoology of the human race.

Art compares to nature like wine to the grape.

It is open to question whether the highly individualized characters we find in Shakespeare are perhaps not detrimental to the dramatic effect. The human being disappears to the same degree as the individual emerges.

You even called me stupid in your verse, and I'm almost agreeing, for where stupidity is involved, you are quite an expert, friend.