All lyrical work must, as a whole, be perfectly intelligible, but in some particulars a little unintelligible.

Do not, I beg you, look for anything behind phenomena. They are themselves their own lesson.

Don't dissipate your powers; strive to concentrate them. Genius thinks it can do whatever it sees others doing, but it will surely repent of every ill-judged outlay.

I do not now begin, - I still adore Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast; Then once again with prudence dispossess'd, And to whose heart I'm driven back once more. The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love, Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad.

Life is but a preparation for what there is to come.

Even dirt glitters when the sun is shining upon it

The finished man, you know, is difficult to please; a growing mind will ever show you gratitude. --Faust 1, lines 182-3