When One Is Young, One Venerates And

The Lie Is A Condition Of Life.

The Great Works Are Produced In Such An Ecstasy Of Love That They Must Always Be Unworthy Of It, However Great Their Worth Otherwise.

Insects Sting, Not From Malice, But Because They Want To Live. It Is The Same With Critics; They Desire Our Blood Not Our Pain.

One Has Renounced The Great Life When One Renounces War.

Thinking Has To Be Learned In The Way Dancing Has To Be Learned.