Phantastes, a Faerie Romance for Men and Women

Thou dreamest: on a rock thou art, High o'er the broken wave; Thou fallest with a fearful start But not into thy grave; For, waking in the morning's light, Thou smilest at the vanished night

It sounded like a welcome already overshadowed with the coming farewell.

Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, but only my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is better, a thousand-fold, for a proud man to fall and be humbled, than to hold up his head in his pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that will be a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doer of his work, is sure

You see this Fairy Land is full of oddities and all sorts of incredibly ridiculous things, which a man is compelled to meet and treat as real existences, although all the time he feels foolish for doing so.

All a man has to do, is to better what he can. And if he will settle it with himself, that even renown and success are in themselves of no great value, and be content to be defeated, if so be that the fault is not his; and so go to his work with a cool brain and a strong will, he will get it done; and fare none the worse in the end, that he was not

As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note.

All mirrors are magic mirrors.

"Chained is the Spring. The night-wind bold Blows over the hard earth; Time is not more confused and cold, Nor keeps more wintry mirth. "Yet blow, and roll the world about; Blow, Time—blow, winter's Wind! Through chinks of Time, heaven peepeth out, And Spring the frost behind."

The moon, which is the lovelier memory or reflex of the down-gone sun, the joyous day seen in the faint mirror of the brooding night, had rapt me away.