Quotes from Friedrich Schiller

Like a dart the present glances, Silent stands the past sublime.

What reason, like the careful ant, draws laboriously together, the wind of accident sometimes collects in a moment.

O tender yearning, sweet hoping! The golden time of first love! The eye sees the open heaven, The heart is intoxicated with bliss; O that the beautiful time of young love Could remain green forever.

What is life without the radiance of love?

It is difficult to discriminate the voice of truth from amid the clamor raised by heated partisans.

O that it might remain eternally green, The beautiful time of youthful love.

In love, Jealousy is the great exaggerator.

I have enjoyed the happiness of the world; I have loved.

There are occasions when the general belief of the people, even though it be groundless, works its effect as sure as truth itself.

Deeper meaning resides in the fairy tales told to me in my childhood than in the truth that is taught by life.

Truth exists for the wise, beauty for the feeling heart.

Truth suffers no loss if a vehement youth fails in finding it, in the same way that virtue and religion suffer no detriment if a criminal denies them.

He who never ventures beyond actuality will never win the prize of truth.

It is only through the morning gate of the beautiful that you can penetrate into the realm of knowledge. That which we feel here as beauty we shall one day know as truth.

It would be necessary that they should be already sages to love wisdom...

He, that noble prize possessing He that boasts a friend that's true, He whom woman's love is blessing, Let him join the chorus too!

Love can sun the realms of night.

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.

The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.

Power is the most persuasive rhetoric.

Time flies on restless pinions — constant never.

Will it, and set to work briskly.

Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.

Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on its delight is murder, and its end is despair.