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What else is chance but the rude stone which receives its life from the sculptor's hand? Providence gives us chance, and man must mould it to his own designs.
Friedrich Schiller
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Friedrich Schiller
Age: 45 †
Born: 1759
Born: November 10
Died: 1805
Died: May 9
Historian
Journalist
Librarian
Novelist
Philosopher
Physician Writer
Playwright
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Marbach/Neckar
Schillerean
Johann Christian Friedrich von Schiller
Johann C. F. Schiller
Johann Christoph Friedrich Schiller
Schiller
Fridrikh Shiller
Fridrikh Shiler
F. Shiller
Frideriko Schiller
Joh. Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Frederick Schiller
Hsi-le
Friedrich von Schiller
Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Chance
Designs
Else
Rude
Hands
Providence
Must
Stone
Giving
Stones
Sculptor
Men
Design
Sculptors
Life
Gives
Mould
Hand
Receives
More quotes by Friedrich Schiller
The hat is the pride of man for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors is no free man.
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Song forbids victorious deeds to die.
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In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs.
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Never the grave gives back what it has won!
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Will it, and set to work briskly.
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If you cannot please everyone with your deeds and your art, please a few. To please many is bad.
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Fate always wins, for our own heart within us Imperiously furthers its designs.
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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.
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Disappointments are to the soul what a thunderstorm is to the air.
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The May of life blooms once and never again.
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What is life without the radiance of love?
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Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers must do service and all talents swear allegiance. 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.
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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.
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Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.
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Nothing leads to good that is not natural.
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It is through beauty that we arrive at freedom.
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We are too prone to find fault let us look for some of the perfections.
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I am called The richest monarch in the Christian world The sun in my dominion never sets.
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Stern is the visage of necessity.
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Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.
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