The work of art may have a moral effect, but to demand moral purpose from the artist is to make him ruin his work.

Oh God, how do the world and heavens confine themselves, when our hearts tremble in their own barriers!

For many people, one of the most frustrating aspects of life is not being able to understand other people's behavior.

Since you know me and my destiny only too well, you probably also know what attracts me to all unfortunate people.

He who has art and science also has religion, but those who do not have them better have religion.

The one who acts is always without conscience; nobody has a conscience but the contemplative person.

Is it not enough that we cannot make one another happy, must we also rob one another of the pleasures that any heart may permit itself now and then? And name me a person who in a bad mood will be decent enough to hide it, to bear it alone, without destroying the joy around him. Is it not rather an inner dissatisfaction with our own unworthiness, a dislike of ourselves that is always associated with envy aggravated by foolish conceit? We see people happy and not made happy by us, and that is unbearable.