Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!