# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1661/Maxims and Reflections

From Fraser's Magazine.
MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
All that is wise has been thought already; we must try, however, to think it again.
How shall you learn to know yourself? — Not by contemplation, but action. Strive to do your duty, and you will soon discover what stuff you are made of.
But what is your duty? — To fulfil the claims of the day.
The rational universe is to be considered as a great undying individual, which is incessantly producing that which it must, and thereby makes itself lord over even the accidental.
The longer I live the more it annoys me to see man, whose highest function consists in ruling nature, and in emancipating himself and those belonging to him from the encompassing necessity — when I see him, from some false preconceived notion, doing the very reverse of what he intended, and then miserably bungling about in the parts because the design of the whole is spoilt.
Let the active able man deserve and expect:
From the great — grace;
From the powerful — favour;
From the good and active — help;
From the multitude — liking;
From the individual — love.
Every one must think in his own way; for he will always discover some sort of truth or approximation to truth which helps him through his life. But he must not let himself drift along; he must exercise self-control; it beseems not man to allow himself to be ruled by mere instinct.
Unlimited activity of whatever kind must at last end in bankruptcy.
In the works of man, as in those of nature, it is the intention which is chiefly worth studying.
Men come to mistake themselves and others because they treat the means as an end, the consequence being that their very activity prevents their accomplishing anything, or perhaps effects the reverse of what was designed.
What we plan, what we undertake, should already be so clearly mapped out and so beautiful in its proportions that the world by interfering could only mar it. We should thus be in an advantageous position to adjust what might have got out of joint, and to replace what had been destroyed.
It is extremely difficult to correct and sift whole, half, and quarter errors, and to put what of truth they contain in its proper place.
Truth need not always be embodied; enough if it hover around like a spiritual essence, which gives one peace and fills the atmosphere with a solemn sweetness like harmonious music of bells.
"Blowing is not playing the flute; you must use your fingers."
Generalizations and great self-conceit are always preparing the most lamentable mishaps.
Botanists have a class of plants which they name Incompletæ; we might in the same sense speak of incomplete, imperfect men — those, namely, whose longing and struggling are not in proportion to their doing and performing.
The smallest man may be complete by confining his actions within the limits of his capacity and skill; but even fine gifts are obscured, ruined, and annihilated if the indispensable proportion be wanting. This mischief will often display itself in this new time; for who can hope to fulfil satisfactorily the claims of an age everyway full of exaggeration and also in rapidest movement?
​A great mistake: to hold oneself too high and rate oneself too cheap.
I occasionally meet with young men in whom I see nothing I could wish altered or improved; nevertheless I feel anxious when I see them thoroughly able to swim with the current of the times; and I am continually impelled in this case to call their attention to the fact that man, in his frail boat, had the rudder placed in his hands in order that he might not allow himself to be swayed by chance currents, but by the dictates of his judgment.
But how shall a young man by his unaided efforts discover that which everybody does, approves, and promotes to be hurtful and reprehensible? How shall he not let his nature and temperament waft him in the same direction?
I must regard it as the greatest misfortune of our time, in which nothing is allowed to attain to maturity, that each moment is swallowed up by its successor, the day dissipated within the day, and that people thus continually live from hand to mouth, without in reality furthering anything. Do we not already possess newspapers for every hour of the day? A ready wit, certainly, might still intercalate this, that, and the other. Thus what everybody thinks, fancies, does, nay intends doing, is dragged into publicity. Nobody must suffer and rejoice but as a pastime for others, the news flying from house to house, from city to city, from country to country, and, at last, from continent to continent, with incredible velocity.
But we can as little hope to put down the steam-engine as these phenomena showing themselves in the moral world: the animation of commerce, the swift passage of paper money, the accumulation of debt to pay debt, such are the enormously complicated elements which the young man is called upon to deal with at present. It is well if he is endowed by nature with quiet and moderation, making no exorbitant claims on the world on the one hand, nor allowing himself to be swayed by it on the other.
In every circle the time-spirit lies in wait for him, and nothing is more necessary than to point out to him early enough the direction in which his will ought to steer.
The importance of the most innocent speeches and acts increases with our years, and I strive continually to direct the attention of those whom I see often about me, to the difference there is between sincerity, confidence, and indiscretion; nay, that in reality there is no difference, but rather a subtle transition — which ought to be noticed, or, better still, felt — from what is most harmless to the most mischievous.
To this end we ought to cultivate our tact, or we run the risk of inadvertently forfeiting people's favour from the same cause which first gained it us. We naturally learn this in our course through life, but only after having paid a heavy school-fee for it, which unfortunately we cannot prevent our successors from being obliged to pay likewise.
The relation of the arts and sciences to life varies in proportion to the stage of development they have attained, to the character of the times, and a thousand other accidental circumstances; it is not easy for any one, therefore, to form a sound conclusion on the subject as a whole.
Poetry acts chiefly at the earlier stage of human conditions, be they either quite rude, half-civilized, or in a transitional period of civilization; or at the first acquaintance with an alien civilization, so that one may say the action of novelty is always concerned in it.
Music, in the best sense, does not require novelty; nay, the older it is and the more we are accustomed to it, the greater its effect.
The dignity of art perhaps chiefly manifests itself in music, as it contains no adventitious elements. Consisting chiefly in form and feeling, it heightens and refines whatever it expresses.
Music is either sacred or profane. The sacred character is thoroughly suited to its dignity, and through this it exercises the most potent influence on life, an influence continuing the same at all times and epochs. Profane music ought to be permeated by cheerfulness.
That species of music which mixes up the sacred and profane character is godless, while that of a hybrid kind, which loves to express weak, pitiable, and miserable feelings, becomes absurd; for it is not grave enough for sacredness, and lacks the leading characteristics of its opposite — gaiety.
The sacred character of church music, the gaiety and sportiveness of popular melodies, are the two hinges on which music turns. An infallible effect is always produced by either kind — devotion or dancing. The blending of these two ​elements is confusing, the dilution turns vapid; and when music endeavours to accommodate itself to didactic or descriptive poetry, it becomes cold.
Plastic art produces an effect upon us at only its highest stage. On various accounts we may be impressed by mediocre works, but, on the whole, they perplex more than delight us. Sculpture, therefore, should strive to lay hold on a subsidiary interest in the subject, such as is found in the likenesses of remarkable men. But in these, also, a high degree of excellence must be attained, in order to combine the attributes of truth and dignity.
Painting is the most facile and accommodating of all the arts. The most facile because, even in cases where it is more of a craft than an art, we tolerate and take pleasure in much of it on account of the subject-matter; partly because technical skill, however spiritless in point of execution, impresses the educated and uneducated alike, so that it is generally acceptable if it rises but partially to the level of art. Truth in colouring, in surfaces, and in the relation of visible objects to one another, is in itself pleasing; and as the eye, moreover, is accustomed to see everything, a misshapen object, either in reality or in counterfeit, is not as offensive to it as a discord is to the ear. We tolerate the sorriest copy because we habitually see yet sorrier objects. If the painter, therefore, is but in some degree an artist, he will find more public appreciation than a musician of the same rank; the minor painter, at least, can always act by himself, whereas the musician of like standing must co-operate with others, in order to produce some effect by means of combined performances.
The question as to whether or no we ought to institute comparisons in criticising works of art might be answered as follows: The connoisseur ought to compare, for he has formed a conception, an idea of what can and ought to be produced. The amateur, on the road to culture, however, finds most furtherance in abstaining from comparisons, and viewing each merit separately; by this means feeling and perception for the more general elements are gradually developed. The comparisons of the uninitiated are, in fact, a species of indolence fain to escape the trouble of judgment.
Love of truth shows itself in discovering and appreciating what is good wherever it may exist.
By historically tempered human feeling, we understand one which is so regulated that, in estimating contemporary merits and capacities, the past is also taken into account.
The best result to be derived from history is the enthusiasm it kindles.
Originality challenges originality.
We must remember that there are many people who, although lacking originality, yet wish to say something striking, and thus the most whimsical things of all sorts are produced.
People of a profound and serious turn of mind are placed in a difficult position as regards the public.
Let him who would have me for a listener speak positively; of the problematic I have enough within myself.
Superstition is so innate in man that if we try to expel it it retreats to the oddest nooks and corners, reappearing unexpectedly when it may hope for any security.
We should know many things better did we not wish to know them too minutely; for an object first assumes just proportions for us at an angle of forty-five degrees.
The microscope and telescope have a tendency to confuse our proper human understanding.
I hold my peace concerning many things, as I do not wish to perplex my fellow-men, and am content to see them rejoicing at what irritates me.
Everything is pernicious that emancipates our intellect without at the same time strengthening our self-control.
It is the what rather than the how which usually interests people in a work of art; for while able to grasp the former in its parts they cannot apprehend the latter as a whole. Hence comes the love of extracting passages — in the course of which, however, if we are careful observers, we shall see that the total effect is again reproduced, only, in this case, unconsciously to everybody.
The question as to whence the poet has derived his work concerns his subject-matter alone; of the how one never learns anything.
Imagination is only regulated by art, more especially by poetry. There is nothing more frightful than imagination devoid of taste.
​The philologist depends on the congruity of written tradition. Thus, a manuscript forming the object of research is often full of gaps, of faults of orthography and other objectionable qualities, necessarily producing corresponding gaps in the sense. Perhaps a second, perhaps a third copy is discovered, and by instituting comparisons between them the possibility increases of eliciting sense and reason from the manuscript. Nay, the philologist makes still another step, and trusts that his own efforts unaided by external appliances, may enable him not only to understand the matter in hand, but to reconstruct it afresh as a consistent whole. But special tact and absorption in the departed author being required for this, as well as a certain degree of inventive power, we must not blame the philologist if he also arrogate the right of judgment in matters of taste in which, however, he is not always equally successful.
The poet's function consists in representation. This reaches its climax when it rivals reality, or, in other words, when its descriptions are vivified by his genius to such a degree that they appear actually present. Poetry, at its culminating point, makes the impression of something absolutely external, and as soon as it assumes an inward character its decline begins. That kind of poetry which only represents the inner without embodying it in some external form, or without making us feel the exterior by means of the inner world, is in either case the last stage whence it retrogrades into common life.
Oratory enjoys all the rights and privileges of poetry; it uses and abuses them in order to obtain certain outward, moral and immoral, ends momentarily advantageous in common life.
The real merit of the so-called Volkslied consists in its subject being directly inspired by nature. But the poet of culture could enjoy the same advantage if he knew how to avail himself of it.
As a really educated man, however, he will lack that pithiness of phrase always more or less at the command of simply natural persons.
Only he can judge of history who has had a history of his own. This equally applies to nations. The Germans have only become judges of literature since they have possessed a literature themselves.
We are only really alive when we enjoy the good-will of others.
Piety is not an end, but a means of attaining the highest degree of culture by perfect peace of mind. Hence it is to be observed that those who make piety an end and aim in itself for the most part become hypocrites.
"One must do more when one is old than when one was young."
Even the fulfilment of duty leaves a sense of being indebted, because we are never thoroughly satisfied with ourselves.
It is only the loveless who descry defects in others; to perceive these, therefore, we must become loveless, but not more than is absolutely necessary.
The greatest good fortune is that which amends our imperfections and balances our faults.
We only acknowledge him who is of use to us. We acknowledge the monarch because his government renders our property secure. We expect that he will afford us protection against unpleasant circumstances at home or abroad.
The stream is the miller's friend as well as servant, and rushes gladly over the wheel: what good in creeping listlessly through the valley?
He who contents himself with simple experience, and acts accordingly, possesses a sufficient amount of truth. The growing child may be called wise in this sense.
The only use of theories is that they make us believe in the connection of phenomena.
Every abstract truth, if practically applied, is brought home to human understanding by action and observation, and so the human understanding is led on to abstract reasoning.
He who pitches his demands too high, and who delights in intricate circumstances, is liable to error.
Inference from analogy is not to be condemned; the advantage of this method is, that it settles nothing definitely — does not, in fact, aim at finality; while the danger of induction, on the contrary, consists in the placing before itself of a deliberate aim, and hurrying true and false ideas along with it in its endeavour to reach it.
Ordinary apprehension, or a correct view of human affairs, is the general heirloom of common sense.
​The first manifests itself in the practical understanding, and directly through action; the latter symbolically, chiefly in mathematics, by means of forms and numbers, through speech, and in an original, metaphorical manner in the poetry of genius and the proverbs of common sense.
Absent things act upon us by means of tradition. History may be called ordinary tradition; while that of a higher kind is mythical, and nearly related to imagination; but if we still seek a third kind of meaning in it, it is transformed to mysticism. It also easily assumes a subjective character, so that we only appropriate that which is sympathetic to ourselves.
The forces to be taken into account if we wish to be truly helped forward in our development, are:
       Preparatory,
       Concomitant,
       Co-operative,
       Auxiliary,
       Furthering,
       Strengthening,
       Hindering, and
       After-working influences.
In contemplation, as well as in action, we must distinguish between what is attainable and what is not: failing this, we can accomplish little either in life or knowledge.
Le sens commun est le génie de l'humanité.
The common sense which would pass for the genius of mankind must be judged by its utterances in the first place. If we enquire what are the uses to which it is put by mankind, we shall discover the following: Man is conditioned by wants. If these are not satisfied he grows impatient, and if they are, indifferent. Man, therefore, properly speaking, oscillates between these two states; he turns his understanding, or so-called common sense, to account, to satisfy his wants; but, having succeeded in this, it behoves him to fill up the vacuum produced by indifference. And if this is confined within the narrowest and most necessary limits, he may hope to succeed in his endeavours. But if his wants are of a higher nature, if they transcend the circle of ordinary life, common sense no longer suffices, ceases to be genius, and the realm of error opens out before mankind.
Nothing happens, however foolish, which common sense and fortune may not set right again; but nothing reasonable can take place that chance and folly may not again put out of joint.
A great idea is no sooner embodied externally than it acts in a certain sense despotically; whence its accompanying advantages soon turn to drawbacks. It is possible, therefore, to defend and praise every institution by recalling its beginnings, and by demonstrating that everything that was applicable to it at that time must still continue to be so.
Lessing, who had himself to submit reluctantly to various restraints, makes one of his characters say that "no man can be forced against his will." A clever man, of a cheerful disposition, said: "He who wills, must;" while a third person of culture added, "He who comprehends, wills also." They fancied that they had thus embraced the entire circle or apprehension, volition, and necessity. But, on the whole, man's apprehension of things, whatever its nature, determines his conduct; hence nothing is more frightful than active ignorance.
There are two peaceful powers: Justice and fitness.
Justice claims what is due, polity what is seemly. Justice weighs and decides; polity surveys and orders. Justice refers to the individual. Polity to the community.
The history of the sciences is a mighty fugue, in which the voice of nation after nation becomes successively audible.
If a man will perform all that people require of him, he must overrate himself.
And we willingly tolerate his self-esteem if it does not grow absurd.
Work makes the workman.
It is much easier to put oneself in the place of a mind involved in positive error than in that of one which dallies with half-truths.
The pleasure which Germans take in a certain license in art is due to their bungling propensities; for the bungler shrinks from acknowledging a right method, lest he annihilate himself.
It is painful to see how a man of remarkable genius often wars with himself, his circumstances and his times, and consequently never succeeds in his objects. The poet Bürger is a sad case in point.
The highest respect which an author can show the public is not by gratifying its expectations, but by offering what he himself at various times may consider ​useful and appropriate to the stages of culture attained by himself and others.
There is no wisdom save in truth.
Everybody can detect an error, but not a lie.
The German, having freedom of opinions, does not therefore feel his want of freedom in matters of intellect and taste.
Are there not riddles enough in the world without our making riddles of the simplest phenomena?
The smallest hair casts its shadow.
What things in my life I tried to accomplish under false tendencies, I have nevertheless come to understand at last.
A freehanded disposition is sure to get favour, especially when accompanied by humility.
Ere the bursting forth of the storm the dust, so soon to be laid, is violently agitated for the last time.
Even with the best will and inclination, one does not easily know his neighbour, and ill-will frequently supervenes, disfiguring everything.
We should know one another better did we not always try to put ourselves on a par with each other.
Eminent men fare badly therefore; as one cannot compare oneself to them, one keeps a sharp look-out for their faults.
Knowledge of man is of far less consequence in the world than to possess the knack, at any given moment, of outwitting the man one has to deal with. This is proved at fairs and by mountebanks.
It does not follow that wherever there is water there must be frogs; but wherever we hear frogs there is water.
He who knows no language but his own does not even know that.
Errors are not of much consequence in youth, but we must guard against dragging them with us into our old age.
Superannuated errors are fusty, unprofitable lumber.
By the tyrannical folly of Cardinal Richelieu, Corneille had lost confidence in himself.
Nature gets into specializations — aye, into a blind alley, where she cannot go forward and will not turn back: hence the obstinacy of natural culture.
That metamorphosis in the higher sense which consists in taking and giving, winning and losing, was long since excellently depicted by Dante.
Everybody has a certain something in his nature which, if publicly avowed, must excite displeasure.
When a man begins to ponder over his physical or moral nature, he usually discovers that he is sick.
It is a demand of nature that a man be sometimes lulled without going to sleep; thence the pleasure from smoking, drinking, and opiates.
It is important for a man of action to do right, but he should not disturb himself as to whether right is done.
Many beat about the wall with a hammer, fancying at every blow that they are hitting the nail on the head.
The French language has arisen not from the written but the spoken words of the Latin tongue.
The casually-actual, in which for the moment we can neither discern a law of nature nor of the will, is called the common.
The painting and tattooing of the body is a return to animalism.
To write history is one fashion of getting rid of the past.
We do not possess what we do not understand.
Not everybody becomes productive on having a germinal idea transmitted to him; it may only serve to suggest something already quite well known.
Weak-minded persons dispense favours because they consider it a mark of sovereignty.
Nothing is so commonplace but will seem humorous if expressed with a certain oddity of manner.
People always retain sufficient energy to do that of which they are convinced.
Let memory fail so long as you can rely on your judgment at a moment's notice.
The so-called nature poets are men of fresh talents, who have appeared in a stagnant, mannered, and over-cultivated epoch of art, — but rejected by it. They cannot avoid certain platitudes, and may, therefore, seem to have a retrogade tendency; yet they exercise a regenerating influence and cause new progress.
A nation has no judgment till it can judge itself. And this great advantage is of late attainment.
Instead of contradicting my words peopie should act according to my meaning.
The adversaries of an honest cause do ​but beat on burning coals; these are scattered abroad and inflame, when otherwise they would not have produced any effect.
Man were not the noblest creature on the earth if he were not too noble for it.
One must leave certain minds in undisturbed possession of their idiosyncrasies.
Works of a certain order are now produced which are null and void without being absolutely bad; null for want of substance, yet not bad, as their authors had the general outline of good models in their mind's eye.
He who shirks the idea ends by becoming incapable of forming conceptions.
We justly call those men our masters from whom we always learn; but not every one of whom we learn deserves this title.
Lyrical work ought to be full of reason as a whole, and a little unreasonable in detail.
You are all of you like the ocean, which, distinguished by different appellations, is, after all, nothing but salt water.
Empty self-praise is said to smell amiss; that may be, but the public has no nose for the detection of unjust blame of others.
The novel is a subjective epic, in which the author asks permission to manipulate the world in his particular manner; all that concerns us, therefore, is to ask whether he has such a manner, and the rest follows of itself.
There are problematical natures unfit for every condition in which they are placed and satisfied with none. Thence arises the monstrous conflict which consumes life without enjoyment.
The real good we do occurs chiefly clam, vi, et precario (i.e. secretly, perforce, and accidentally).
It is difficult to be just to the present moment; if indifferent, it bores us; the good one has to carry, and the bad to drag along.
I should say the happiest man is he who can link the end of his life with its commencement.
Man is of so obstinately contradictory a nature that he will not allow himself to be forced to his own advantage, yet suffers constraints of all kinds which tend to his harm.
Foresight is simple, afterthought very complicated.
There must be something wrong about a condition which involves one in fresh troubles every day.
Nothing is more common when on the point of committing an imprudent action than to be on the look-out for a possible escape.
It is with true opinions which one has the courage to utter as with pawns first advanced on the chessboard: they may be beaten, but they have inaugurated a game which must be won.
It is as certain as it is wonderful that truth and error spring from the same source; we must often, therefore, beware of injuring error lest we injure truth at the same time.
Truth appertains to man, while error is of time. It was, therefore, remarked of an extraordinary man: "Le malheur des tems a causé son erreur, mats la force de son âme l'en a fait sortir avec gloire."
Everybody has peculiarities which he cannot get rid of; and yet, however harmless they may be, they are frequently the cause of a man's failure.
He who seems not to himself more than he is, is more than he seems.
In art and science no less than in action, everything depends on the object being clearly apprehended and treated conformably to the law of its nature.
When we find sensible and ingenious persons judging meanly of science in their old age, the reason simply is, that their expectations regarding it and themselves had been pitched too high.
I pity those who bewail the mutability of things, and who lose themselves in speculations concerning the nothingness of the world: what are we here for, if not to make the transitory lasting, and this is only possible if we can estimate both at their true value.
What the French call tournure is nothing but conceit softened by grace. This may convince us that Germans cannot possibly have tournure: for their conceit is hard and crude, their gentleness mild and humble; and, as one quality thus excludes the other, they can never be blended.
Nobody looks any longer at the rainbow which has lasted a quarter of an hour.
It has often happened to me, and does still, that a work of art displeases me on a first inspection, because I am not up to its mark; but if I suspect that it has merits I endeavour to penetrate its secret, and I then invariably make the most delightful ​discoveries; descrying new properties in the thing and new capacities in myself.
Faith is a domestic and private capital, as there are public savings-banks and relief-funds, out of which individuals receive assistance in times of scarcity; but here the believer himself silently draws his interest.
The evil of pietism consists not so much in its obstruction of true, useful, and intelligible ideas, as in the circulation of false ones.
It has struck me, after having devoted much attention to the study of the lives of superior and inferior persons, that we might consider them as respectively the warp and woof of the world's web; for the former really determines the breadth of the fabric, whereas the latter regulate its durability and consistence, with the addition, perhaps, of some sort of design. The shears of the Parcæ, on the other hand, control its length, to which all else is finally forced to submit. We will not, however, carry the metaphor any farther.
Books have a fate of their own, of which nothing can deprive them.
Who never ate his bread in sorrow, Who never spent the darksome hours
Weeping and watching for the morrow,
He knows you not, ye unseen Powers
A noble and honoured queen was wont to repeat these sorrowful lines when, condemned to the cruelest exile, she herself became a prey to inexpressible grief. She made herself familiar with a work containing these words as well as so many other painful experiences, and derived thence a melancholy consolation. How is it possible thenceforth to arrest an influence already stretching into boundless time ?
I was perfectly delighted, when in the Apollo gallery of the Villa Frascati at Rome, to see with what felicitous invention Domenichino has depicted the scenes most appropriate to the character of Ovid's "Metamorphoses;" one remembers, too, that the delight of the pleasantest things is enhanced by being experienced amid magnificent scenery, nay, that noble surroundings lend a certain dignity and significance to even the most indifferent moments of our life.
Truth is a torch, but one of enormous size; so that we try to slink past it in rather a blinking fashion for fear it should burn us.
The wise have much in common. — Æschylus.
A particular want of good sense in many sensible people consists in their not knowing how to interpret what another says when he has not said it exactly as he ought.
Everybody thinks that because he can speak he is entitled to speak about language.
Tolerance comes with age. I see no fault committed that I myself could not have committed at some time or other.
One is never conscientious during action: none but the looker-on has a conscience.
Do the happy really believe that one who suffers is bound to perish with the dignity which the Roman populace required of the gladiator?
Somebody asked Timon's advice respecting the instruction of his children. "Let them," he replied, "be taught that which they will never comprehend."
There are people towards whom I feel well disposed, and could wish that I were able to be still better disposed.
Even as long habit may induce us to glance at a watch that has stopped, we may look in a fair lady's eyes as though she loved us still.
Hate is an active, envy a passive displeasure; it need not surprise us, therefore, to see how quickly envy passes into hate.
There is a certain magic in rhythm leading us to believe that its sublimity belongs to ourselves.
Dilettantism taken au sérieux, and a mechanical manner of treating science, become pedantry.
Only a master can further art. But patrons may with propriety stimulate the artist himself; this, however, does not always farther the interests of art.
"Perspicuity consists in a proper distribution of light and shade." — Hamann. Hear, hear!
Shakespeare abounds in wonderful metaphors, which are personified ideas, in fact a manner ill adapted to our times, but quite appropriate in an age when art of every kind was under the influence of allegory.
He also takes his similes from objects whence we would not borrow ours; as, for example, from books. Printing had ​already been discovered for more than a century, yet a book was still regarded as a sacred object, as may be gathered from the bindings of that time; and hence it came that the high-minded poet regarded it as something dear and venerable; but bur books are merely stitched together, and we are rarely conscious of respect for either cover or contents.
The most foolish of all mistakes consists in young men of sound talents fearing to lose their originality by acknowledging truths which have already been recognized by others.
Scholars have usually an invidious manner of refuting others; an error in their eyes assuming at once the proportions of a crime.
It is impossible that beauty should ever distinctly apprehend itself.
No sooner had subjective, or so-called sentimental poetry been placed on a level with poetry of an objective and realistic tendency, a consummation not to be avoided unless we choose to condemn all modern poetry, than it was to be expected that, even in the case of the advent of men of true poetical genius, they would thenceforth prefer depicting the intimate experiences of the inner life to that of the great and busy world around them. And this method now prevails to such an extent that we actually possess a poetry without tropes, to which one must concede, however, certain merits of its own.