ments is confusing, the dilution turns vapid; and when music endeavours to accommodate itself to didactic or descriptive poetry, it becomes cold.
Plastic art produces an effect upon us at only its highest stage. On various accounts we may be impressed by mediocre works, but, on the whole, they perplex more than delight us. Sculpture, therefore, should strive to lay hold on a subsidiary interest in the subject, such as is found in the likenesses of remarkable men. But in these, also, a high degree of excellence must be attained, in order to combine the attributes of truth and dignity.
Painting is the most facile and accommodating of all the arts. The most facile because, even in cases where it is more of a craft than an art, we tolerate and take pleasure in much of it on account of the subject-matter; partly because technical skill, however spiritless in point of execution, impresses the educated and uneducated alike, so that it is generally acceptable if it rises but partially to the level of art. Truth in colouring, in surfaces, and in the relation of visible objects to one another, is in itself pleasing; and as the eye, moreover, is accustomed to see everything, a misshapen object, either in reality or in counterfeit, is not as offensive to it as a discord is to the ear. We tolerate the sorriest copy because we habitually see yet sorrier objects. If the painter, therefore, is but in some degree an artist, he will find more public appreciation than a musician of the same rank; the minor painter, at least, can always act by himself, whereas the musician of like standing must co-operate with others, in order to produce some effect by means of combined performances.
The question as to whether or no we ought to institute comparisons in criticising works of art might be answered as follows: The connoisseur ought to compare, for he has formed a conception, an idea of what can and ought to be produced. The amateur, on the road to culture, however, finds most furtherance in abstaining from comparisons, and viewing each merit separately; by this means feeling and perception for the more general elements are gradually developed. The comparisons of the uninitiated are, in fact, a species of indolence fain to escape the trouble of judgment.
Love of truth shows itself in discovering and appreciating what is good wherever it may exist.
By historically tempered human feeling, we understand one which is so regulated that, in estimating contemporary merits and capacities, the past is also taken into account.
The best result to be derived from history is the enthusiasm it kindles.
Originality challenges originality.
We must remember that there are many people who, although lacking originality, yet wish to say something striking, and thus the most whimsical things of all sorts are produced.
People of a profound and serious turn of mind are placed in a difficult position as regards the public.
Let him who would have me for a listener speak positively; of the problematic I have enough within myself.
Superstition is so innate in man that if we try to expel it it retreats to the oddest nooks and corners, reappearing unexpectedly when it may hope for any security.
We should know many things better did we not wish to know them too minutely; for an object first assumes just proportions for us at an angle of forty-five degrees.
The microscope and telescope have a tendency to confuse our proper human understanding.
I hold my peace concerning many things, as I do not wish to perplex my fellow-men, and am content to see them rejoicing at what irritates me.
Everything is pernicious that emancipates our intellect without at the same time strengthening our self-control.
It is the what rather than the how which usually interests people in a work of art; for while able to grasp the former in its parts they cannot apprehend the latter as a whole. Hence comes the love of extracting passages — in the course of which, however, if we are careful observers, we shall see that the total effect is again reproduced, only, in this case, unconsciously to everybody.
The question as to whence the poet has derived his work concerns his subject-matter alone; of the how one never learns anything.
Imagination is only regulated by art, more especially by poetry. There is nothing more frightful than imagination devoid of taste.
Mannerism is produced by missing the ideal — is, in fact, a subjective ideal; it rarely, therefore, is wanting in ingenuity.
