Names Are But Noise And Smoke, Obscuring

Does Not Man Lack The Force At The Very Point Where He Needs It Most? And When He Soars Upward In Joy, Or Sinks Down In Suffering, Is Not Checked In Both, Is He Not Returned Again To The Dull, Cold Sphere Of Awareness, Just When He Was Longing To Lose Himself In The Fullness Of The Infinite.

One Is Led Astray Alike By Sympathy And Coldness, By Praise And By Blame

Lord Byron Is Only Great As A Poet; As Soon As He Reflects He Is A Child.

The Older We Grow, The Greater Become The Ordeals.

What Am I Then...? Everything That I Have Seen, Heard, And Observed I Have Collected And Exploited. My Works Have Been Nourished By Countless Different Individuals, By Innocent And Wise Ones, People Of Intelligence And Dunces. Childhood, Maturity And Old Age All Have Brought Me Their Thoughts....their Perspectives On Life. I Have Often Reaped What Others Have Sowed. My Work Is The Work Of A Collective Being That Bears The Name Goethe.