The Dear Good People Don't Know How

Happiness Is A Ball After Which We Run Wherever It Rolls, And We Push It With Our Feet When It Stops.

One Must Not Criticize That Which Is Common Since It Remains Always The Same.

It Is With Art As With Love: How Can A Man Of The World,with All His Distractions, Keep The Inwardness Which An Artist Must Possess If He Hopes To Attain Perfection? That Inwardness Which The Spectator Must Share If He Is To Understand The Work As The Artist Wishes And Hopes... Believe Me, Talents Are Like Virtues; Either You Must Love Them For Their Own Sake Or Renounce Them Altogether. And They Are Only Recognized And Rewarded When We Have Practised Them In Secret, Like A Dangerous Mystery."

Come My Little One, And Give Me Your Hand.

Stood I, O Nature! Man Alone In Thee, Then Were It Worth One's While A Man To Be.