A vi'let on the meadow grew, That no one saw, that no one knew, It was a modest flower. A shepherdess pass'd by that way-- Light footed, pretty and so gay; That way she came, Softly warbling forth her lay.
Johann Wolfgang von GoetheEverything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it must become something different and incomparable. In some notes the nightingale is still a bird; then it rises above its class and seems to suggest to every winged creature what singing is truly like.
Johann Wolfgang von GoetheNature goes her own way, and all that to us seems an exception is really according to order.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe