All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own.
Johann Wolfgang Von GoetheRead
Commonplaceness, the surrender to the average, that good which is not bad but still the enemy of the best - That is our besetting danger.
Interpretation
Settling for mediocrity can prevent us from achieving our highest potential.
This quote by Goethe highlights the peril of accepting mediocrity in life. While the 'commonplace' may seem safe and satisfactory, it ultimately hinders our pursuit of excellence and personal growth. It serves as a warning against complacency, urging individuals to strive for their best instead of resigning to being average.
In practice
In a motivational speech about striving for greatness.
All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own.
Destiny grants us our wishes, but in its own way, in order to give us something beyond our wishes.
There is a courtesy of the heart; it is allied to love. From its springs the purest courtesy in the outward behavior.
I am amazed to see how deliberately I have entangled myself step by step. To have seen my position so clearly, and yet to have acted so like a child!
Seldom in the business and transactions of ordinary life, do we find the sympathy we want.
Know thyself? If I knew myself I would run away.
The painful thing is that when we buy into disapproval, we are practicing disapproval. When we buy into harshness, we are practicing harshness. The more we do it, the stronger these qualities become. How sad it is that we become so expert at causing harm to ourselves and others. The trick then is to practice gentleness and letting go. We can learn to meet whatever arises with curiosity and not make it such a big deal.
Knowledge, or verbal facility, is no proof that you know what you're talking about.
The United States invariably does the right thing, after having exhausted every other alternative.
Reason, or the ratio of all we have already known, is not the same that it shall be when we know more.
If thou fill thy brain with Boston and New York, with fashion and covetousness, and wilt stimulate thy jaded senses with wine and French coffee, thou shalt find no radiance of wisdom in the lonely waste of the pinewoods.
These dreams reminded me that, since I wished some day to become a writer, it was high time to decide what sort of books I was going to write. But as soon as I asked myself the question, and tried to discover some subject to which I could impart a philosophical significance of infinite value, my mind would stop like a clock, my consciousness would be faced with a blank, I would feel either that I was wholly devoid of talent or perhaps that some malady of the brain was hindering its development.
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