The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest.

I ask my destiny - what power is this That cruelly drives me onward without rest? My destiny says, "Look round!" I turn back and see It is I myself that is ever pushing me from behind.

With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more.

For man is by nature an artist.

The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever.

A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me.

I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.