Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor.

In the long run men hit only what they aim at.

What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is?

We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest flowers of life into potions which, after all, do not immortalize, but only intoxicate.

Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor.

The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.