What Dazzles, For The Moment Spends Its

The Flowers Of Life Are But Visionary. How Many Pass Away And Leave No Trace Behind! How Few Yield Any Fruit,--and The Fruit Itself, How Rarely Does It Ripen! And Yet There Are Flowers Enough; And Is It Not Strange, My Friend, That We Should Suffer The Little That Does Really Ripen To Rot, Decay, And Perish Unenjoyed?

Ah, How Often I've Cursed Those Foolish Pages, That Showed My Youthful Sufferings To Everyone! If Werther Had Been My Brother, And I'd Killed Him, His Sad Ghost Could Hardly Have Persecuted Me More.

Certain Flaws Are Necessary For The Whole. It Would Seem Strange If Old Friends Lacked Certain Quirks.

When We Treat Man As He Is, We Make Him Worse Than He Is; When We Treat Him As If He Already Were What He Potentially Could Be, We Make Him What He Should Be.

To Create Something You Must Be Something.