It is a misfortune to pass at once from observation to conclusion, and to regard both as of equal value; but it befalls many a student.

Thought expands, but paralyzes; action animates, but narrows.

Everything transitory is but an image.

Yet here I stand poor fool what more, not one wit wiser than before.

I was oppressed with the sensations I then felt; I sunk under the weight of them.

I have possessed that heart, that noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, because I was all that I could be.

Everything 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.