Who Dares Nothing, Need Hope For Nothing.

The Moor Has Done His Work, The Moor May Go.

Everlastingly Chained To A Single Little Fragment Of The Whole, Man Himself Develops Into Nothing But A Fragment; Everlastingly In His Ear The Monotonous Sound Of The Wheel That He Turns, He Never Develops The Harmony Of His Being, And Instead Of Putting The Stamp Of Humanity Upon His Own Nature, He Becomes Nothing More Than The Imprint Of His Occupation Or Of His Specialized Knowledge.

On Dreary Night Let Lusty Sunshine Fall.

Deeper Meaning Resides In The Fairy Tales Told To Me In My Childhood Than In The Truth That Is Taught By Life.

Man, One May Say, Was Never In Such A Completely Animal Condition; But He Has, On The Other Hand, Never Escaped From It.