He who serves the public is a poor animal; he worries himself to death and no one thanks him for it.

Higher yet and higher out of clouds and night, nearer yet and nearer rising to the light - light, serene and holy where my soul may rest, purified and lowly, sanctified and blest.

Our friends show us what we can do; our enemies teach us what we must do.

Once more I am a wanderer, a pilgrim, through the world. But what else are you?

We don't get to know anything but what we love.

There is no better deliverance from the world than through art, and a man can form no surer bond with it.

Those only obtain love, for the most part, who seek it not.