Friends, The Soil Is Poor, We Must

A Certain Degree Of Solitude Seems Necessary To The Full Growth And Spread Of The Highest Mind; And Therefore Must A Very Extensive Intercourse With Men Stifle Many A Holy Germ, And Scare Away The Gods, Who Shun The Restless Tumult Of Noisy Companies And The Discussion Of Petty Interests.

We Touch Heaven When We Lay Our Hand On A Human Body!

I Was Still Blind, But Twinkling Stars Did Dance Throughout My Being's Limitless Expanse, Nothing Had Yet Drawn Close, Only At Distant Stages I Found Myself, A Mere Suggestion Sensed In Past And Future Ages.

One Can Not Understand Language Because Language Cannot Understand Itself; Does Not Want To Understand

The Art Of Writing Books Is Not Yet Invented. But It Is At The Point Of Being Invented. Fragments Of This Nature Are Literary Seeds. There May Be Many An Infertile Grain Among Them: Nevertheless, If Only Some Come Up!