True love is that which remains for ever the same whether all that it asks is granted or all refused.
The rhythm,” said Goethe, “is an unconscious result of the poetic mood. If one should stop to consider it mechanically, when about to write a poem, one would become bewildered and accomplish nothing of real poetical value.“ – Ibid.
Anything in the world can be endured, except a series of wonderful days.
A longing pure and not to be described drove me to wander over woods and fields, and in a mist of hot abundant tears I felt a world arise and live for me.
And, though God may still forgive, Be damned on earth while you live!
Welch Schauspiel! aber ach! ein Schauspiel nur!
O welcome, twilight soft and sweet, That breathes throughout this hallowed shrine! Sweet pain of love, bind thou with fetters fleet The heart that on the dew of hope must pine!
Oh, oh! You have destroyed the beautiful world.
And in connection with this little matter I have again found, my dear fellow, that misunderstandings and lethargy perhaps produce more wrong in the world than deceit and malice do. At least the two latter are certainly rarer.
He who doesn’t see his lover’s faults as virtues is not in love.
You only keep a watch on those who cause you suffering. If you want to remain unknown to the world, all that’s needed is not to hurt anyone.
What dazzles is a Momentary act: What’s true is left for posterity, intact.
We first observe how dreary and disagreeable an overclouded day is when a single sunbeam pierces through, and offers to us the exhilarating splendor of a serene hour.
I can promise you, if you would rightly apply your poetic view, my goddess might be represented as an invincible, victorious queen, and boldly opposed to yours. It is true, she bears the olive rather than the sword: dagger or chain she knows not.
This sally somewhat nettled Wilhelm; but he concealed his sentiments, remembering that Werner used to listen with composure to his apostrophes.
It was as if my soul were thinking separately from the body: she looked upon the body as a foreign substance, as we look upon a garment. She pictured with extreme vivacity events and times long past, and felt, by means of this, events that were to follow. Those times are all gone by; what follows likewise will go by; the body, too, will fall to pieces like a vesture; but I, the well-known I, I am.
O Bestimmung des Menschen!
We, it seems, have entered newly In the sphere of dreams enchanted. Do thy bidding, guide us truly, That our feet be forwards planted In the vast, the desert spaces!
I have not snares around thee cast; Thyself hast led thyself into the meshes. Who traps the Devil, hold him fast! Not soon a second time he’ll catch a prey so precious.
Kein Argument bringt mich so aus der Fessung, als wenn einer mit einem unbedeutenden Gemeinspruche angezogen kommt, wenn ich aus ganzem Herzen rede.