Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny.

Happy he who learns to bear what he cannot change.

Song forbids victorious deeds to die.

Love is the reward of love.

Everlastingly chained to a single little fragment of the Whole, man himself develops into nothing but a fragment; everlastingly in his ear the monotonous sound of the wheel that he turns, he never develops the harmony of his being, and instead of putting the stamp of humanity upon his own nature, he becomes nothing more than the imprint of his occupation or of his specialized knowledge.

Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers must do service and all talents swear allegiance. In this great balance of utility, the spiritual service of art has no weight, and, deprived of all encouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time.

Be true, and thou shalt fetter time with everlasting chain.