Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Johann WolfgangGoethetə/; German: ; 28 August 1749 – 22 March 1832) was a German writer and statesman. His body of work includes epic and lyric poetry written in a variety of metres and styles; prose and verse dramas; memoirs; an autobiography; literary and aesthetic criticism; treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour; and four novels. In addition, numerous literary and scientific fragments, more than 10,000 letters, and nearly 3,000 drawings by him exist...
NationalityGerman
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth28 August 1749
CountryGermany
I am fully convinced that the soul is indestructible, and its activity will continue through eternity.
And those whom once my song had cheered and gladdened, If still they live, rove through the world now saddened.
Once more I am a wanderer, a pilgrim, through the world. But what else are you?
How often do I lull my seething blood to rest, for you have never seen anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as this heart.
Just trust yourself and you'll learn the art of living.
For many people, one of the most frustrating aspects of life is not being able to understand other people's behavior.
Truth has to be repeated constantly, because Error also is being preached all the time, and not just by a few, but by the multitude. In the Press and Encyclopaedias, in Schools and Universities, everywhere Error holds sway, feeling happy and comfortable in the knowledge of having Majority on its side.
I am part of the part that once was everything, Part of the darkness which gave birth to light… Mephistopheles, from Faust.
I was oppressed with the sensations I then felt; I sunk under the weight of them.
Everyone is deceived in his hopes, cheated in his expectations.
Just begin and the mind grows heated; continue, and the task will be completed!
Truth is contrary to our nature, not so error, and this for a very simple reason: truth demands that we should recognize ourselves as limited, error flatters us that, in one way or another, we are unlimited.
A rainbow which lasts for a quarter of an hour is looked at no longer.
Does not man lack the force at the very point where he needs it most? And when he soars upward in joy, or sinks down in suffering, is not checked in both, is he not returned again to the dull, cold sphere of awareness, just when he was longing to lose himself in the fullness of the infinite.