To Like Things Like, Whatever One May

Mastery Is Often Taken For Egotism.

He Who Knows No Foreign Languages Knows Nothing Of His Own.

Everything Perfect In Its Kind Has To Transcend Its Own Kind, It Must Become Something Different And Incomparable. In Some Notes The Nightingale Is Still A Bird; Then It Rises Above Its Class And Seems To Suggest To Every Winged Creature What Singing Is Truly Like.

Everything Transitory Is But An Image.

The Flowers Are Full Of Honey, But Only The Bee Finds Out The Sweetness.