Beauty Vanishes; Virtue Is Lasting.

Every Day I Observe More And More The Folly Of Judging Of Others By Ourselves; And I Have So Much Trouble With Myself, And My Own Heart Is In Such Constant Agitation, That I Am Well Content To Let Others Pursue Their Own Course, If They Only Allow Me The Same Privilege.

A Man Who Cannot Command Himself Will Always Be A Slave.

Translators Can Be Considered As Busy Matchmakers Who Praise As Extremely Desirable A Half-veiled Beauty. They Arouse An Irresistible Yearning For The Original.

The True, Prescriptive Artist Strives After Artistic Truth; The Lawless Artist, Following Blind Instinct, After An Appearance Of Naturalness. The One Leads To The Highest Peaks Of Art, The Other To Its Lowest Depths.

When We See The Many Grave-stones Which Have Fallen In, Which Have Been Defaced By The Footsteps Of The Congregation, Which Lie Buried Under The Ruins Of The Churches, That Have Themselves Crumbled Together Over Them; We May Fancy The Life After Death To Be As A Second Life, Into Which Man Enters In The Figure, Or The Picture Or The Inscription, And Lives Longer There Than When He Was Really Alive. But This Figure Also, This Second Existence, Dies Out Too, Sooner Or Later. Time Will Not Allow Himself To Be Cheated Of His Rights With The Monuments Of Men Or With Themselves.