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Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (10 November 1759 – 9 May 1805), usually known as Friedrich Schiller, was a German poet, historian, dramatist, and playwright.
Born: November 10th, 1759
Died: May 9th, 1805
Quotes: 100 sourced quotes total (includes 2 about)
|Words (count)||31||4 - 210|
|Search Results||36||10 - 210|
Die Weltgeschichte ist das Weltgericht.
Was man nicht aufgibt, hat man nie verloren.
Der Krieg ernährt den Krieg.
Grosse Seelen dulden still.
Das Leben ist Nur ein Moment, der Tod ist auch nur einer!
The voice of the majority is no proof of justice.
He who has done his best for his own time has lived for all times.
A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.
When the wine goes in, strange things come out.
Man kann den Menschen nicht verwehren, Zu denken, was sie wollen.
I feel an army in my fist.
What is life without the radiance of love?
No doubt the artist is the child of his time; but woe to him if he is also its disciple, or even its favorite.
Wir wollen sein ein einzig Volk von Brüdern, in keiner Not uns trennen und Gefahr. Wir wollen frei sein, wie die Väter waren, eher den Tod, als in der Knechtschaft leben. Wir wollen trauen auf den höchsten Gott und uns nicht fürchten vor der Macht der Menschen.
I am better than my reputation.
Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.
Who reflects too much will accomplish little.
Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays.
Whatever is not forbidden is permitted.
The strong man is strongest when alone.
The joke loses everything when the joker laughs himself.
Did you think the lion was sleeping because he didn't roar?
Love is only known by him who hopelessly persists in love.
As noble Art has survived noble nature, so too she marches ahead of it, fashioning and awakening by her inspiration. Before Truth sends her triumphant light into the depths of the heart, imagination catches its rays, and the peaks of humanity will be glowing when humid night still lingers in the valleys.
The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and watery depths, — all these have vanished; They live no longer in the faith of reason.
Virtue is no empty echo.
To save all we must risk all.
Pain is short, and joy is eternal.
It is through beauty that we arrive at freedom.
What one refuses in a minute No eternity will return.
The dictates of the heart are the voice of fate.
What the inner voice says Will not disappoint the hoping soul.
What's old collapses, times change, And new life blossoms in the ruins.
I am called The richest monarch in the Christian world; The sun in my dominion never sets.
On the mountains there is freedom! The world is perfect everywhere, Save where man comes with his torment.
Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart.
Threefold the stride of Time, from first to last! Loitering slow, the Future creepeth — Arrow-swift, the Present sweepeth — And motionless forever stands the Past.
Nothing, it is true, is more common than for both Science and Art to pay homage to the spirit of the age, and for creative taste to accept the law of critical taste.
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.
To the Gods we ne'er can render Praise for every good they grant; Let us, with devotion tender, Minister to grief and want. Quenched be hate and wrath forever, Pardoned be our mortal foe— May our tears upbraid him never, No repentance bring him low!
They have founded the whole structure of their happiness on these very illusions, which ought to be combated and dissipated by the light of knowledge, and they would think they were paying too dearly for a truth which begins by robbing them of all that has value in their sight. It would be necessary that they should be already sages to love wisdom: a truth that was felt at once by him to whom philosophy owes its name.
Time is man's angel.
What are hopes, what are plans?
Life is earnest, art is gay.
The lemonade is weak, like your soul.
Translation: World history is the world's court.
You say it as you understand it.
Life is only error, And death is knowledge.
O the idea was childish, but divinely beautiful.
What is the short meaning of the long speech?
In thy breast are the stars of thy fate.
The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it.
You saw his weakness, and he will never forgive you.
O who knows what slumbers in the background of the times?
Welcome, all ye myriad creatures! Brethren, take the kiss of love!
Man is made of ordinary things, and habit is his nurse.
Virtue has her heroes too As well as Fame and Fortune.
Only through Beauty's morning gate, dost thou enter the land of Knowledge.
Man is created free, and is free, Though he be born in chains.
Appearance should never attain reality, And if nature conquers, then must art retire.
A moment lived in paradise Is not atoned for too dearly by death.
Many a crown shines spotless now That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.
The most pious man can't stay in peace If it doesn't please his evil neighbor.
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, Who's made the master of his destiny.
Der Menscheit Würde ist in Eure Hand gegeben, bewahret Sie! Sie sinkt mit euch! Mit euch wird sie sich heben!
My son, there's nothing insignificant, Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing First and most principal is place and time.
There's no such thing as chance; And what to us seems merest accident Springs from the deepest source of destiny.
Bow before him, all creation! Mortals, own the God of love! Seek him high the stars above,— Yonder is his habitation!
Be embraced, ye millions! This kiss is for the whole world! Brothers, above the arch of stars A loving Father surely dwells.
Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven! Brethren hail the blest decree; Every sin shall be forgiven, Hell forever cease to be!
Sense of wrongs forget to treasure— Brethren, live in perfect love! In the starry realms above, God will mete as we may measure.
Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!
The hat is the pride of man; for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors is no free man.
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!
Have faith! where'er thy bark is driven,— 'The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth,— Know this! God rules the host of heaven, The inhabitants of earth.
Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion, When the wheel of time goes round
This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told While yonder mountains stand upon their base. By heaven! The apple's cleft right through the core.
I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of nature, — through the world's history: I read the soul of the artist in his Apollo.
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.
Don't let your heart depend on things That ornament life in a fleeting way! He who possesses, let him learn to lose, He who is fortunate, let him learn pain.
While the womanly god demands our veneration, the godlike woman kindles our love; but while we allow ourselves to melt in the celestial loveliness, the celestial self-sufficiency holds us back in awe.
Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth without running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of error, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of tranquil wisdom.
Joy, thou spark from Heav'n immortal, Daughter of Elysium! Drunk with fire, toward Heaven advancing Goddess, to thy shrine we come. Thy sweet magic brings together What stern Custom spreads afar; All men become brothers Where thy happy wing-beats are.
Joy from truth's own glass of fire Sweetly on the searcher smiles; Lest on virtue's steeps he tire, Joy the tedious path beguiles. High on faith's bright hill before us, See her banner proudly wave! Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,— Bursts the bondage of the grave!
The reason passes, like the heart, through certain epochs and transitions, but its development is not so often portrayed. Men seem to have been satisfied with unfolding the passions in their extremes, their aberration, and their results, without considering how closely they are bound up with the intellectual constitution of the individual.
The present age has witnessed an extraordinary increase of a thinking public, by the facilities afforded to the diffusion of reading; the former happy resignation to ignorance begins to make way for a state of half-enlightenment, and few persons are willing to remain in the condition in which their birth has placed then.
Who dares impede my progress? Who presume The spirit to control which guideth me? Still must the arrow wing its destined flight! Where danger is, there must Johanna be; Nor now, nor here, am I foredoomed to fall; Our monarch's royal brow I first must see Invested with the round of sovereignty. No hostile power can rob me of my life, Till I've accomplished the commands of God.
We are citizens of an age, as well as of a State; and if it is held to be unseemly, or even inadmissable, for a man to cut himself off from the customs and manners of the circle in which he lives, why should it be less of a duty, in the choice of his activity, to submit his decision to the needs and the taste of his century?
Schiller's blank verse is bad. He moves it as a fly in a glue bottle. His thoughts have their connection and variety, it is true, but there is no sufficiently corresponding movement in the verse. How different from Shakespeare's endless rhythms! … There is a nimiety — a too-muchness — in all Germans. It is the national fault. Lessing had the best notion of blank verse. The trochaic termination of German words renders blank verse in that language almost impracticable.
Folly, thou conquerest, and I must yield! Against stupidity the very gods Themselves contend in vain. Exalted reason, Resplendent daughter of the head divine, Wise foundress of the system of the world, Guide of the stars, who art thou then if thou, Bound to the tail of folly's uncurbed steed, Must, vainly shrieking with the drunken crowd, Eyes open, plunge down headlong in the abyss. Accursed, who striveth after noble ends, And with deliberate wisdom forms his plans! To the fool-king belongs the world.
The Greeks put us to shame not only by their simplicity, which is foreign to our age; they are at the same time our rivals, nay, frequently our models, in those very points of superiority from which we seek comfort when regretting the unnatural character of our manners. We see that remarkable people uniting at once fullness of form and fullness of substance, both philosophising and creating, both tender and energetic, uniting a youthful fancy to the virility of reason in a glorious humanity.
Each state of the human mind has some parable in the physical creation by which it is shadowed forth; nor is it only artists and poets, but even the most abstract thinkers that have drawn from this source. Lively activity we name fire; time is a stream that rolls on, sweeping all before it; eternity is a circle; a mystery is hid in midnight gloom, and truth dwells in the sun. Nay, I begin to believe that even the future destiny of the human race is prefigured in the dark oracular utterances of bodily creation.
I have only an office here, and no opinion.
The empire of Saturnus is gone by; Lord of the secret birth of things is he; Within the lap of earth, and in the depths Of the imagination dominates; And his are all things that eschew the light. The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance, For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now, And the dark work, complete of preparation, He draws by force into the realm of light. Now must we hasten on to action, ere The scheme, and most auspicious positure Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight, For the heavens journey still, and adjourn not.
According to the late F.C.S. Schiller, the greatest obstacle to fruitful discussion in philosophy is “the curious etiquette which apparently taboos the asking of questions about a philosopher’s meaning while he is alive.” The “interminable controversies which fill the histories of philosophy,” he goes on to say, “could have been ended at once by asking living philosophers a few searching questions.” The confident optimism of this last remark undoubtedly goes too far. Living thinkers have been asked “a few searching questions,” about their real meaning. It is none the less true that there would be for greater of understanding than is now often the case, if more such searching questions had been directed to great thinkers while they were still alive.
When man is raised from his slumber in the senses, he feels that he is a man, he surveys his surroundings, and finds that he is in a state. He was introduced into this state, by the power of circumstances, before he could freely select his own position. But as a moral being he cannot possibly rest satisfied with a political condition forced upon him by necessity, and only calculated for that condition; and it would be unfortunate if this did satisfy him. In many cases man shakes off this blind law of necessity, by his free spontaneous action, of which among many others we have an instance, in his ennobling by beauty and suppressing by moral influence the powerful impulse implanted in him by nature in the passion of love.
There are three lessons I would write, — Three words — as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light Upon the hearts of men. Have Hope. Though clouds environ now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, — No night but hath its morn. Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven, — The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, — Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven, The habitants of earth. Have Love. Not love alone for one, But men, as man, thy brothers call; And scatter, like the circling sun, Thy charities on all. Thus grave these lessons on thy soul, — Hope, Faith, and Love, — and thou shalt find Strength when life's surges rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind.
Dare to be wise! Energy and spirit is needed to overcome the obstacles which indolence of nature as well as cowardice of heart oppose to our instruction. It is not without significance that the old myth makes the goddess of Wisdom emerge fully armed from the head of Jupiter; for her very first function is warlike. Even in her birth she has to maintain a hard struggle with the senses, which do not want to be dragged from their sweet repose. The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error. Content if they themselves escape the hard labor of thought, men gladly resign to others the guardianship of their ideas, and if it happens that higher needs are stirred in them, they embrace with a eager faith the formulas which State and priesthood hold in readiness for such an occasion.
The voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all events to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The course of events has given a direction to the genius of the time that threatens to remove it continually further from the ideal of art. For art has to leave reality, it has to raise itself bodily above necessity and neediness; for art is the daughter of freedom, and it requires its prescriptions and rules to be furnished by the necessity of spirits and not by that of matter. But in our day it is necessity, neediness, that prevails, and bends a degraded humanity under its iron yoke. Utility is the great idol of the time, to which all powers do homage and all subjects are subservient. In this great balance of utility, the spiritual service of art has no weight, and, deprived of all encouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time. The very spirit of philosophical inquiry itself robs the imagination of one promise after another, and the frontiers of art are narrowed, in proportion as the limits of science are enlarged.
The universe is a thought of God. After this ideal thought-fabric passed out into reality, and the new-born world fulfilled the plan of its Creator—permit me to use this human simile—the first duty of all thinking beings has been to retrace the original design in this great reality; to find the principle in the mechanism, the unity in the compound, the law in the phenomenon, and to pass back from the structure to its primitive foundation. Accordingly to me there is only one appearance in nature—the thinking being. The great compound called the world is only remarkable to me because it is present to shadow forth symbolically the manifold expressions of that being. All in me and out of me is only the hieroglyph of a power which is like to me. The laws of nature are the cyphers which the thinking mind adds on to make itself understandable to intelligence—the alphabet by means of which all spirits communicate with the most perfect Spirit and with one another. Harmony, truth, order, beauty, excellence, give me joy, because they transport me into the active state of their author, of their possessor, because they betray the presence of a rational and feeling Being, and let me perceive my relationship with that Being.