Woman Is Mistress Of The Art Of

Nature Understands No Jesting. She Is Always True, Always Serious, Always Severe. She Is Always Right, And The Errors Are Always Those Of Man.

The Passions Are Like Those Demons With Which Afrasahiab Sailed Down The Orus. Our Only Safety Consists In Keeping Them Asleep. If They We Are Lost.

If The Word Is Not Dead When It Reaches The Hearer, He Murders It At Once By A Contradiction, A Stipulation, A Condition, A Digression, An Interruption, And All The Thousand Tricks Of Conversation.

There Is A Great Difference, Whether The Poet Seeks The Particular For The Sake Of The General Or Sees The General In The Particular. From The Former Procedure There Ensues Allegory, In Which The Particular Serves Only As Illustration, As Example Of The General. The Latter Procedure, However, Is Genuinely The Nature Of Poetry; It Expresses Something Particular, Without Thinking Of The General Or Pointing To It.

In All Our Academies We Attempt Far Too Much. ... In Earlier Times Lectures Were Delivered Upon Chemistry And Botany As Branches Of Medicine, And The Medical Student Learned Enough Of Them. Now, However, Chemistry And Botany Are Become Sciences Of Themselves, Incapable Of Comprehension By A Hasty Survey, And Each Demanding The Study Of A Whole Life, Yet We Expect The Medical Student To Understand Them. He Who Is Prudent, Accordingly Declines All Distracting Claims Upon His Time, And Limits Himself To A Single Branch And Becomes Expert In One Thing.