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.

To gain a crown by fighting is great, to reject it divine.

An honest man you may form of windle-straws, but to make a rogue you must have grist.

Toil of science swells the wealth of art.

Love is only known by him who hopelessly persists in love.

Love can sun the realms of night.

The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart.