We Must Always Change, Renew, Rejuvenate Ourselves;

A Man's Foibles Are What Makes Him Lovable.

Every Spoken Word Arouses Our Self-will.

If A Poet Would Work Politically, He Must Give Himself Up To A Party; And So Soon As He Does That, He Is Lost As A Poet.

Presents At Once? That's Good. He Is Sure To Succeed.

When We See The Many Grave-stones Which Have Fallen In, Which Have Been Defaced By The Footsteps Of The Congregation, Which Lie Buried Under The Ruins Of The Churches, That Have Themselves Crumbled Together Over Them; We May Fancy The Life After Death To Be As A Second Life, Into Which Man Enters In The Figure, Or The Picture Or The Inscription, And Lives Longer There Than When He Was Really Alive. But This Figure Also, This Second Existence, Dies Out Too, Sooner Or Later. Time Will Not Allow Himself To Be Cheated Of His Rights With The Monuments Of Men Or With Themselves.