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.

One always has time enough, if one will apply it well.

That is the way of youth and life in general: that we do not understand the strategy until after the campaign is over.

For that is love's nature that it lays claim to exclusive right and that all other claims are nil.

We know accurately only when we know little, with knowledge doubt increases.

The poet should seize the Particular, and he should, if there be anything sound in it, thus represent the Universal.

We see only what we know.