A really great talent finds its happiness in execution.

Superstition is the poesy of practical life; hence, a poet is none the worse for being superstitious.

Wild dreams torment me as I lie. And though a god lives in my heart, though all my power waken at his word, though he can move my every inmost part - yet nothing in the outer world is stirred. thus by existence tortured and oppressed I crave for death, I long for rest.

All things are only transitory.

The senses do not deceive us, but the judgment does.

When I say to the Moment flying; 'Linger a while -- thou art so fair!' Then bind me in thy bonds undying, And my final ruin I will bear!

Man errs, till he has ceased to strive.