Doch Zittre Vor Der Langsamen, Der Stillen

His Saying Was: Live And Let Live.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Measure Not By The Scale Of Perfection The Meager Product Of Reality.

Gray Hairs Are Death's Blossoms.

Sentimental Poetry Differs From Naive Poetry In That It Relates The Real State At Which The Latter Stops To Ideas And Applies Ideas To That Reality.