Art Is Difficult, Transient Is Her Reward.

But How Is The Artist To Protect Himself Against The Corruption Of The Age Which Besets Him On All Sides?

Accursed Be He Who Plays With The Devil.

Joy, Thou Spark From Heav'n Immortal, Daughter Of Elysium! Drunk With Fire, Toward Heaven Advancing Goddess, To Thy Shrine We Come. Thy Sweet Magic Brings Together What Stern Custom Spreads Afar; All Men Become Brothers Where Thy Happy Wing-beats Are.

Cling To Thy Native Land, For It Is The Land Of Thy Fathers?

Nothing, It Is True, Is More Common Than For Both Science And Art To Pay Homage To The Spirit Of The Age, And For Creative Taste To Accept The Law Of Critical Taste.