versal? But what
is in process of development must pass from one form into another at the
hands of the poet, it must never as formless soft clay dissolve before
our eyes into chaos and confusion; it must always, in a certain sense,
be at the same time a finished product, just as in the universe we never
encounter naked raw material. Man exists only because of his future; an
inexplicable mystery, but one that may not be denied. Man, therefore,
cannot be brought before us as something complete in himself; for not
how he affects the world but how the world affects him arouses our
interest and is of importance to us; the great forces and powers outside
of him find embodiment by exerting an influence over him, and thus lose
their formidableness, the riddle of the universe is solved as soon as it
finds utterance, and even though at the end a question remains, we can
bear this much easier than an empty nothing.

Not only in art but in history as well life sometimes assumes a form,
and art should not seek her subjects and her themes where this has
occurred.

God was a mystery to Himself before the creation; He had to create in
order to understand Himself. If only some one thing had been completely
explained, then everything would be explained.

The motives before a deed are usually transformed during the deed, and
at least seem quite different after the deed: this is an important
circumstance which most dramatists overlook.

Lyric poetry has something childlike about it, dramatic poetry something
manly, epic poetry something senile.

Two hands can indeed clasp one another but cannot grow together. This is
the relation of one individuality to another.

(1840)

From my conception of form many consequences ensue of the most varied
kind. In reference to lyric poetry: the whole emotional life is a
shower, the emotion which is singled out is a drop illumined by the sun.
Dramatic poetry: form is the point where divine and human strength
neutralize one another.

The true idyll results when a man is represented as happy and complete
in himself within his own appointed sphere. So long as he remains within
this sphere fate has no power over him.

Poetry of the highest kind is the true historiography. It grasps the
result of historical processes and holds it fast in imperishable images
as, for example, Sophocles has done with the idea of Hellenism.

All life is a struggle of the individual with the universe.

Duality pervades