An Artist Is He For Whom The

The Poetry Of This One Is Called Philosophical, Of That One Philological, Of A Third Rhetorical, And So On. Which Is Then The Poetic Poetry?

There Are Ancient And Modern Poems Which Breathe, In Their Entirety And In Every Detail, The Divine Breath Of Irony. In Such Poemsthere Lives A Real Transcendental Buffoonery. Their Interior Is Permeated By The Mood Which Surveys Everything And Rises Infinitely Above Everything Limited, Even Above The Poet's Own Art, Virtue, And Genius; And Their Exterior Form By The Histrionic Style Of An Ordinary Good Italian Buffo.

Religion Must Completely Encircle The Spirit Of Ethical Man Like His Element, And This Luminous Chaos Of Divine Thoughts And Feelings Is Called Enthusiasm.

The Surest Method Of Being Incomprehensible Or, Moreover, To Be Misunderstood Is To Use Words In Their Original Sense; Especially Words From The Ancient Languages.

Considered Subjectively, Philosophy Always Begins In The Middle, Like An Epic Poem.