Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make

The Devil Take These People And Their Language! They Take A Dozen Monosyllabic Words In Their Jaws, Chew Them, Crunch Them And Spit Them Out Again, And Call That Speaking. Fortunately They Are By Nature Fairly Silent, And Although They Gaze At Us Open-mouthed, They Spare Us Long Conversations.

Sleep Is Good, Death Is Better; But Of Course, The Best Thing Would To Have Never Been Born At All.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love. Of Course, If The Spectator Be Without The Last, The Whole Will Present But A Pitiful Appearance, And In That Case, The Sun Is Merely So Many Miles In Diameter, The Trees Are Good For Fuel, The Flowers Are Classified By Stamens, And The Water Is Simply Wet.

Nothing Is Sillier Than This Charge Of Plagiarism. There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Dare Help Himself Wherever He Lists, Wherever He Finds Material Suited To His Work. He May Even Appropriate Entire Columns With Their Carved Capitals, If The Temple He Thus Supports Be A Beautiful One. Goethe Understood This Very Well, And So Did Shakespeare Before Him.

Life Is The Greatest Of Blessings And Death The Worst Of Evils.... All Great, Powerful Souls Love Life.