The eternal female draws us onward.

One's roused by this, another finds that fit: Each loves the play for what he brings to it.

Love, whose power youth feels, is not suitable for the elderly, just as little as anything that presupposes productivity. It is rare that productivity lasts through the years.

The web of this world is woven of Necessity and Chance. Woe to him who has accustomed himself from his youth up to find something necessary in what is capricious, and who would ascribe something like reason to Chance and make a religion of surrendering to it.

One must be something, in order to do something.

We must always change, renew, rejuvenate ourselves; otherwise, we harden.

Properly speaking, such work is never finished; one must declare it so when, according to time and circumstances, one has done one's best.