/lit/ - Literature

What the actual living hell is the appeal?

>>20770125
Name a bigger Vicoboo

I just want to know some cool nice publishers besides Folio. I dont love their current art stylessss

Why does he use the knittelvers?

>>19888848
This is first of all a personal trait in yourself which has to be developed, the psychological eye or intuitiveness. I recommend Goethe and Jung for it.

>This tendency of yours, is indeed likely to unfit you for society; for what would be the use of culture, if it did not teach us to modify and control our natural tendencies. 'Tis mere folly to hope that other men will harmonize with us; I have never been guided by such motives; I have regarded each man as an independent individual, whom I might study, and whose characteristics I, might learn to understand, but from whom I must not expect further sympathy. Only in this way have I been enabled to converse with every man, to obtain the knowledge of various characters, and the dexterity necessary for the conduct of life. For it is by conflict with natures opposed to his own that a man learns to show himself a man. Thus only can the various sides of the character be brought out, till it attains a certain completeness, and the man, feels sure of himself in opposition to any and every man. This is what you need. You can do so, if you please it.

>>19741275
>Certainly, in art and poetry, the personality of the artist is all in all, though certain weak critics and connoisseurs of our day will not acknowledge this, and treat a grand personality as an accessory of little importance to a work. But, really, in order to feel and admire a grand personality, a man must himself be somewhat. All who have denied Euripides the praise of sublimity, were either poor herrings, incapable of such exaltation, or shameless charlatans, who, by dint of presumption, seemed to the world more than they really were.

>>19601836
>Certainly, in art and poetry, the personality of the artist is all in all, though certain weak critics and connoisseurs of our day will not acknowledge this, and treat a grand personality as an accessory of little importance to a work. But, really, in order to feel and admire a grand personality, a man must himself be somewhat. All who have denied Euripides the praise of sublimity, were either poor herrings, incapable of such exaltation, or shameless charlatans, who, by dint of presumption, seemed to the world more than they really were.

>>19430360
>science disposes the best understanding of intelligence
NO.

>Mothers, Mothers! How strange that sounds!
What did he mean by this?

Homer, Hesiod, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Dante, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Goethe or Wagner?

How does their understanding of life differ?

FAUST:
What is your name?
MEPHISTO:
This question seems minute
For one who thinks the word so beggarly,
Who holds what seems in disrepute.
And craves only reality.
FAUST:
Your real being no less than your fame
Is often shown, sirs, by your name,
Which is not hard to analyze
When one calls you the Liar, Destroyer, God of
Flies.
Enough, who are you then?
MEPHISTO.:
Part of that force which would
Do evil evermore, and yet creates the good.
FAUST:
What is it that this puzzle indicates?
MEPHISTO:
I am the spirit that negates.
And rightly so, for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
'Twere better nothing would begin.
Thus everything that your terms, sin,
Destruction, evil represent—
That is my proper element.
FAUST:
You call yourself a part, yet whole make your
debut?
MEPHISTO:
The modest truth I speak to you.
While man, this tiny world of fools, is droll
Enough to think himself a whole,
I am part of the part that once was everything,
Part of the darkness which gave birth to light,
That haughty light which envies mother night
Her ancient rank and place and would be king—
Yet it does not succeed: however it contend,
It sticks to bodies in the end.
It streams from bodies, it lends bodies beauty,
A body won't let it progress;
So it will not take long, I guess,
And with the bodies it will perish, too.
FAUST:
I understand your noble duty:
Too weak for great destruction, you
Attempt it on a minor scale.
MEPIDSTO:
And I admit it is of slight avail.
What stands opposed to our Nought,
The some, your wretched world-for aught
That I have so far undertaken,
It stands unruffied and unshaken:
With billows, fires, storms, commotion,
Calm, after all, . remain both land and ocean.
And that accursed lot, the brood of beasts and
men,
One cannot hurt them anyhow.
How many have I buried now!
Yet always fresh new blood will circulate again.
Thus it goes on—I could rage in despair!
From water, earth, and even air,
A thousand seeds.have ever grown
In warmth and cold and drought and mire!
If I had not reserved myself the fire,
I should have nothing of my own.
FAUST:
And thus, I see, you would resist
The ever-live creative power
By clenching your cold devil's fist
Resentfully—in vain you glower.
Try something new and unrelated,
Oh you peculiar son of chaos!

FAUST:
Your real being no less than your fame
Is often shown, sirs, by your name,
Which is not hard to analyze
When one calls you the Liar, Destroyer, God of Flies.
Enough, who are you then?
MEPHISTO.:
Part of that force which would
Do evil evermore, and yet creates the good.
FAUST:
What is it that this puzzle indicates?
MEPHISTO:
I am the spirit that negates.
And rightly so, for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
'Twere better nothing would begin.
Thus everything that your terms, sin,
Destruction, evil represent—
That is my proper element.
FAUST:
You call yourself a part, yet whole make your
debut?
MEPHISTO:
The modest truth I speak to you.
While man, this tiny world of fools, is droll
Enough to think himself a whole,
I am part of the part that once was everything,
Part of the darkness which gave birth to light,
That haughty light which envies mother night
Her ancient rank and place and would be king—
Yet it does not succeed: however it contend,
It sticks to bodies in the end.
It streams from bodies, it lends bodies beauty,
A body won't let it progress;
So it will not take long, I guess,
And with the bodies it will perish, too.
FAUST:
I understand your noble duty:
Too weak for great destruction, you
Attempt it on a minor scale.

>>16655813
Goethe's Wilhelm Meister, both parts. Faust as well.

>>16531446
Goethe evidently, you jezebel poster.

>>16414664
Not, at, all.

FAUST. [alone] You gave me, sublime Spirit, gave me all
I asked of you; and it was not in vain
You turned your face upon me in the fire.
You gave me glorious nature as my kingdom,
The power to feel it and delight in it.
No cold encounter, no mere spectacle
You granted me, for nature’s very heart
Is like the bosom of a friend revealed.
Creation’s ordered scale of life you’ve shown me;
I learn to know my brother creatures here
In quiet woods, in streams and in the air.
And when the forest shudders in the storm,
The mighty fir-tree falls, and falling tears
Its neighbours with it, crushing all around,
Its thundering echoes booming from the hills—
Then I find refuge in this cavern, where
I see into myself, and in my heart
Deep mysteries and wonders are unveiled.
And when the pure moon rises overhead
Within its soothing beams the silver forms,
The hovering spirits of the past emerge
From mountain crags and mossy woods to ease
The austere pleasure of my contemplation.

Is it still possible to be a polymath who is well-versed in literature as well as other fields? Are there any modern-day polymaths?

Read Faust.

>>16224700
>The most foolish of all errors is for clever young men to believe that they forfeit their originality in recognizing a truth which has already been recognized by others.

- Goethe

"Medicine, and Law, and Philosophy—
You’ve worked your way through every school,
Even, God help you, Theology,
And sweated at it like a fool.
Why labour at it any more?
You’re no wiser now than you were before.
You’re Master of Arts, and Doctor too,
And for ten years all you’ve been able to do
Is lead your students a fearful dance
Through a maze of error and ignorance.
And all this misery goes to show
There’s nothing we can ever know.
Oh yes, you’re brighter than all those relics,
Professors and Doctors, scribblers and clerics;
No doubts or scruples to trouble you,
Defying hell, and the Devil too.
But there’s no joy in self-delusion;
Your search for truth ends in confusion.
Don’t imagine your teaching will ever raise
The minds of men or change their ways.
And as for worldly wealth, you’ve none—
What honour or glory have you won?
A dog could stand this life no more.
And so I’ve turned to magic lore;
The spirit message of this art
Some secret knowledge might impart.
No longer shall I sweat to teach
What always lay beyond my reach;
I’ll know what makes the world revolve,
Its inner mysteries resolve,
No more in empty words I’ll deal—
Creation’s wellsprings I’ll reveal!"

Anon you have read the master work of the most based poet in history, right?

>Eckermann closes his famous work, Conversations with Goethe, with this passage:

>The morning after Goethe's death, a deep desire seized me to look once again upon his earthly garment. His faithful servant, Frederick, opened for me the chamber in which he was laid out. Stretched upon his back, he reposed as if asleep; profound peace and security reigned in the features of his sublimely noble countenance. The mighty brow seemed yet to harbour thoughts. I wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence prevented me from cutting it off. The body lay naked, only wrapped in a white sheet; large pieces of ice had been placed near it, to keep it fresh as long as possible. Frederick drew aside the sheet, and I was astonished at the divine magnificence of the limbs. The breast was powerful, broad, and arched; the arms and thighs were elegant, and of the most perfect shape; nowhere, on the whole body, was there a trace of either fat or of leanness and decay. A perfect man lay in great beauty before me; and the rapture the sight caused me made me forget for a moment that the immortal spirit had left such an abode. I laid my hand on his heart – there was a deep silence – and I turned away to give free vent to my suppressed tears.

Everyone has heard of Shakespearian, but is there such thing as Goetherian? Or would you say such uniqueness was always swiftly dispersed into the developing Germany and to a degree the world a'large to be made specifically his own forever more in the language, being casually designated its own wording?

>>15297528
You will most likely not believe me.