It is remarkable how a man cannot summarize his thoughts in even the most general sort of way without betraying himself completely, without putting his whole self into it, quite unawares, presenting as if in allegory the basic themes and problems of his life.

One must die to life in order to be utterly a creator.

Reduced to a miserable mass level, the level of a Hitler, German Romanticism broke out into hysterical barbarism.

Only love, and not reason, yields kind thoughts.

We don't love qualities, we love persons; sometimes by reason of their defects as well as of their qualities.

We do not fear being called meticulous, inclining as we do to the view that only the exhaustive can be truly interesting.

Art is the funnel, as it were, through which spirit is poured into life.