Language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly.

Language is present in a piece of work like the sea in a single drop.

Aside from mastery in the fine arts, success in learning anything is the result of genuine interest and amount of energy dedicated to it.

Solely in the world of languages is the amateur of value. Well-intentioned sentences full of mistakes can still build bridges between people. Asking in broken Italian which train we are supposed to board at the Venice railway station is far from useless. Indeed, it is better to do that than to remain uncertain and silent and end up back in Budapest rather than in Milan.

He who knows other languages feels even closer to his own language.

The beauty of a language is, generally judged by its soft or rigid, melodious or harsh, ring. Other aspects, such as the flexibility of derivation, play hardly any role in grading. Were it the case, Russian would certainly be placed on the winner’s stand. It would rank first in plasticity.

I feel such a difference between a philologist/linguist and a linguaphile as, say, a choreographer and a ballerina.