Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
Morality is the weakness of the brain.
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.