The Eternal Female Draws Us Onward.

The True Poet Is Called To Take In The Splendor Of The World And For That Reason Will Always Be Inclined To Praise Rather Than Tofind Fault.

Woe To Falsehood! It Affords No Relief To The Breast, Like Truth; It Gives Us No Comfort, Pains Him Who Forges It, And Like An Arrow Directed By A God Flies Back And Wounds The Archer.

A Flippant, Frivolous Man May Ridicule Others, May Controvert Them, Scorn Them; But He Who Has Any Respect For Himself Seems To Have Renounced The Right Of Thinking Meanly Of Others.

Yes, My Love, Who Soever Lives, Loses, . . . But He Also Wins. [ger., Ja, Meine Liebe, Wer Lebt, Verliebt . . . Aber Er Gewinnt Auch.]

Against Criticism A Man Can Neither Protest Nor Defend Himself; He Must Act In Spite Of It, And Then It Will Gradually Yield To Him.