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 let everyone follow his own bent, that I may be free to follow mine.
The useful may be trusted to further itself, for many produce it and no one can do without it; but the beautiful must be specially encouraged, for few can present it, while yet all have need of it.
A great deal may be done by severity, more by love, but most by clear discernment and impartial justice.
People may live as much retired from the world as they please; but sooner or later, before they are aware, they will find themselves debtor or creditor to somebody.
Wherever a man may happen to turn, whatever a man may undertake, he will always end up by returning to that path which nature has marked out for him.
Everything in the world may be endured except continual prosperity.
Light has called forth one organ to become its like, and thus the eye is formed by the light and for the light so that the inner light may emerge to meet the outer light.
No limit, no definition, may restrict the range or depth of the human spirit's passage into its own secrets or the world's.
Let us not dream that reason can ever be popular. Passions, emotions, may be made popular; but reason remains ever the property of an elect few.
Everything in the world may be endured, except only a succession of prosperous days. [Ger., Alles in der Welt lasst sich ertragen, Nur nicht eine Reihe von schonen Tagen.]
I have observed that as long as one lives and bestirs himself, he can always find food and raiment, though it may not be of the choicest description.
What sort of faults may we retain, nay, even cherish in ourselves? Those faults which are rather pleasant than offensive to others.
He who is wise puts aside all claims which may dissipate his attention, and confining himself to one branch excels in that.
I consider him of no account who esteems himself just as the popular breath may chance to raise him.