The Public Wishes Itself To Be Managed

Everything Is Both Simpler Than We Can Imagine And More Entangled Than We Can Conceive.

The Rabble Also Vent Their Rage In Words. [ger., Es Macht Das Volk Sich Auch Mit Worten Lust.]

What Is My Life If I Am No Longer Useful To Others.

Each Has His Own Happiness In His Hands, As The Artist Handles The Rude Clay He Seeks To Reshape It Into A Figure; Yet It Is The Same With This Art As With All Others: Only The Capacity For It Is Innate; The Art Itself Must Be Learned And Painstakingly Practiced.

He Who Serves The Public Is A Poor Animal; He Worries Himself To Death And No One Thanks Him For It.