No Idea Is Isolated, But Is Only

Those Works Whose Ideal Has Not As Much Living Reality And, As It Were, Personality As The Beloved One Or A Friend Had Better Remain Unwritten. They Would At Least Never Become Works Of Art.

If The Mystical Lovers Of The Arts, Who Consider All Criticism Dissection And All Dissection Destruction Of Enjoyment, Thought Logically, An Exclamation Like "goodness Alive!" Would Be The Best Criticism Of The Most Deserving Work Of Art. There Are Critiques Which Say Nothing But That, Only They Do So More Extensively.

One Of The Two Is Almost Always A Prevailing Tendency Of Every Author: Either Not To Say Some Things Which Certainly Should Be Said, Or To Say Many Things Which Did Not Need To Be Said. The First Is The Original Sin Of Synthetic Natures, The Latter Of Analytical Natures.

There Is No Self-knowledge But An Historical One. No One Knows What He Himself Is Who Does Not Know His Fellow Men, Especially The Most Prominent One Of The Community, The Master's Master, The Genius Of The Age.

Nothing Truly Convincing - Which Would Possess Thoroughness, Vigor, And Skill - Has Been Written Against The Ancients As Yet; Especially Not Against Their Poetry.