When we think we don't like art it is because it is artificial art.
One detects creative power by its capacity to conquer one's detachment.
I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.
The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence.
The weak overcomes its/ menace, the strong over-/comes itself.