The prince exults whomever he selects as his consort, but the queen, rather than elevating the subject of her choice, humiliates him as a man. By all that is right, a man is not intended to be the husband of his wife, but a woman is to be her husband's wife.

Man will return to his origins. Goethe has finally become as squiggly as the city of his fathers.

Feeling and thinking are actually the blind man who carries the lame.

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.

Let the will embrace the highest ideals freely and with infinite strength, but let action first take hold of what lies closest.

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.

If someone were to think that trees are made to support the sky, they would all seem too short.