Over The Trackless Past, Somewhere, Lie The

Be Always Resolute With The Present Hour. Every Moment Is Of Infinite Value.

It Is A Great Error To Take Oneself For More Than One Is, Or For Less Than One Is Worth.

Is It Not Enough That We Cannot Make One Another Happy, Must We Also Rob One Another Of The Pleasures That Any Heart May Permit Itself Now And Then? And Name Me A Person Who In A Bad Mood Will Be Decent Enough To Hide It, To Bear It Alone, Without Destroying The Joy Around Him. Is It Not Rather An Inner Dissatisfaction With Our Own Unworthiness, A Dislike Of Ourselves That Is Always Associated With Envy Aggravated By Foolish Conceit? We See People Happy And Not Made Happy By Us, And That Is Unbearable.

Whoever Would Understand The Poet Must Go Into The Poet's Country. [ger., Wer Den Dichter Will Verstehen Muss In Dichters Lande Gehen.]

In Politics People Throw Themselves, As On A Sickbed, From One Side To The Other In The Belief They Will Lie More Comfortably.