Our passions are the true phoenixes; when the old one is burnt out, a new one rises from its ashes.
Johann Wolfgang von GoetheWe are accustomed to see men deride what they do not understand, and snarl at the good and beautiful because it lies beyond their sympathies
Johann Wolfgang von GoetheSweet moonlight, shining full and clear, Why do you light my torture here? How often have you seen me toil, Burning last drops of midnight oil. On books and papers as I read, My friend, your mournful light you shed. If only I could flee this den And walk the mountain-tops again, Through moonlit meadows make my way, In mountain caves with spirits play - Released from learning's musty cell, Your healing dew would make me well!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe