Even The Weak Become Strong When They

Against Stupidity, God Himself Fights In Vain.

Doch Zittre Vor Der Langsamen, Der Stillen Macht Der Zeit. Yet Tremble At The Slow, Silent Power Of Time.

Worthless Is The Nation That Does Not Gladly Stake Its All On Its Honor.

The Voice Of Our Age Seems By No Means Favorable To Art, At All Events To That Kind Of Art To Which My Inquiry Is Directed. The Course Of Events Has Given A Direction To The Genius Of The Time That Threatens To Remove It Continually Further From The Ideal Of Art. For Art Has To Leave Reality, It Has To Raise Itself Bodily Above Necessity And Neediness; For Art Is The Daughter Of Freedom, And It Requires Its Prescriptions And Rules To Be Furnished By The Necessity Of Spirits And Not By That Of Matter.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.