Art Is A Mediator Of The Unspeakable.

Very Few People Love Others For What They Are; Rather, They Love What They Lend Them, Their Own Selves, Their Own Idea Of Them.

The Suffering May Be Moral Or Physical; And In My Opinion It Is Just As Absurd To Call A Man A Coward Who Destroys Himself, As To Call A Man A Coward Who Dies Of A Malignant Fever.

Love Grants In A Moment What Toil Can Hardly Achieve In An Age. [ger., In Einem Augenblick Gewahrt Die Liebe Was Muhe Kaum In Langer Zeit Erreicht.]

Nothing Is Worth More Than This Day. You Cannot Relive Yesterday. Tomorrow Is Still Beyond Your Reach.

The World Runs On From One Folly To Another; And The Man Who, Solely From Regard To The Opinion Of Others, And Without Any Wish Or Necessity Of His Own, Toils After Gold, Honour, Or Any Other Phantom, Is No Better Than A Fool.