F. C. S. Schiller Quotes
O the eye's light is a noble gift of Heaven! All beings live from light, each fair created thing; the very plants turn with a joyful transport to the light.
The hat is the pride of man; for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors is no free man.
Time is a blooming field: nature is ever teeming with life: and all is seed, and all is fruit.
Whoever fails to turn aside the ills of life by prudent forethought, must submit to fulfill the course of destiny.
Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.
Even now, nature is the only flame, on which the poetic spirit feeds; from it alone it draws all its power, to it alone it speaks even in the artificial, in the man engaged in culture.
In the case of a creative mind, it seems to me, the intellect has withdrawn its watchers from the gates, and the ideas rush in pell-mell and only then does it review and inspect the multitudes.
You have to go the rounds from individual to individual in order to gather the totality of the race.
Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.
Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, To the eternal sun, I render back These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure.
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.
I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of nature, through the world's history: I read the soul of the artist in his Apollo.
To know thyself--in others self-concern; Would'st thou know others? read thyself--and learn!
Ah, to that far distant strand Bridge there was not to convey, Not a bark was near at hand, Yet true love soon found the way.
Satisfied if they themselves can escape from the hard labour of thought, they willingly abandon to others the guardianship of their thoughts.
O'er Ocean, with a thousand masts, sails forth the stripling bold- One boat, hard rescued from the deep, draws into port the old!
It is not the mere station of life that stamps the value on us, but the manner in which we act our part.
Vast, colossal destiny, which raises man to fame, though it may also grind him to powder!
An honest man you may form of windle-straws, but to make a rogue you must have grist.
Individual character is in the right that is in strict consistence with itself. Self-contradiction is the only wrong.
Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays.