When The Wine Goes In, Strange Things

One Drop Of Hatred Left In The Cup Of Joy Turns The Most Blissful Draught Into Poison.

The Voice Of Our Age Seems By No Means Favorable To Art, At All Events To That Kind Of Art To Which My Inquiry Is Directed. The Course Of Events Has Given A Direction To The Genius Of The Time That Threatens To Remove It Continually Further From The Ideal Of Art. For Art Has To Leave Reality, It Has To Raise Itself Bodily Above Necessity And Neediness; For Art Is The Daughter Of Freedom, And It Requires Its Prescriptions And Rules To Be Furnished By The Necessity Of Spirits And Not By That Of Matter.

The Dream Is Short, Repentance Long.

A Virtuous Name Is The Precious Only Good, For Which Queens And Peasants' Wives Must Contest Together.

Did You Think The Lion Was Sleeping Because He Didn't Roar?