He loves not who does not see the faults of the beloved as virtues.

What I possess, seems far away to me, and what is gone becomes reality.

Artists have a double relationship towards nature: they are her master and her slave at the same time. They are her slave in so far as they must work with means of this world so as to be understood; her master in so far as they subject these means to their higher goals and make them subservient to them.

Some books seem to have been written, not to teach us anything, but to let us know that the author has known something.

Do not hurry; do not rest.

Love has the tendency of pressing together all the lights - all the rays emitted from the beloved object by the burning-glass of fantasy, - into one focus, and making of them one radiant sun without any spots.

Nature goes her own way, and all that to us seems an exception is really according to order.