Writing Is Busy Idleness.

Those Who Have No Hope For A Future Life Are Already Dead For The Present One.

Those Who Make Use Of Devotion As A Means And End Generally Are Hypocrites.

If We Examine Every Stage Of Our Lives, We Find That From Our First Breath To Our Last We Are Under The Constraint Of Circumstances. And Yet We Still Possess The Greatest Of All Freedoms, The Power Of Developing Our Innermost Selves In Harmony With The Moral Order Of The Universe, And So Winning Peace Of Heart Whatever Obstacles We Meet.

Certain Faults Are Necessary For The Existence Of The Individual. We Would Resent It If Old Friends Were To Get Rid Of Certain Peculiarities.

What Am I Then...? Everything That I Have Seen, Heard, And Observed I Have Collected And Exploited. My Works Have Been Nourished By Countless Different Individuals, By Innocent And Wise Ones, People Of Intelligence And Dunces. Childhood, Maturity And Old Age All Have Brought Me Their Thoughts....their Perspectives On Life. I Have Often Reaped What Others Have Sowed. My Work Is The Work Of A Collective Being That Bears The Name Goethe.