Wir sehen den Unglücklichen, der doch in eben der Stunde, wo er die Tat beging, so wie in der, wo er dafür büßet, Mensch war wie wir, für ein Geschöp… - Friedrich Schiller

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Wir sehen den Unglücklichen, der doch in eben der Stunde, wo er die Tat beging, so wie in der, wo er dafür büßet, Mensch war wie wir, für ein Geschöpf fremder Gattung an, dessen Blut anders umläuft als das unsrige, dessen Wille andern Regeln gehorcht als der unsrige; seine Schicksale rühren uns wenig, denn Rührung gründet sich ja nur auf ein dunkles Bewusstsein ähnlicher Gefahr, und wir sind weit entfernt, eine solche Ähnlichkeit auch nur zu träumen. Die Belehrung geht mit der Beziehung verloren, und die Geschichte, anstatt eine Schule der Bildung zu sein, muss sich mit einem armseligen Verdienste um unsre Neugier begnügen.

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About Friedrich Schiller

Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (10 November 1759 – 9 May 1805), usually known as Friedrich Schiller, was a German poet, physician, historian, dramatist, and playwright.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Native Name: Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Alternative Names: 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
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Additional quotes by Friedrich Schiller

The voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all events to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The course of events has given a direction to the genius of the time that threatens to remove it continually further from the ideal of art. For art has to leave reality, it has to raise itself bodily above necessity and neediness; for art is the daughter of freedom, and it requires its prescriptions and rules to be furnished by the necessity of spirits and not by that of matter. But in our day it is necessity, neediness, that prevails, and bends a degraded humanity under its iron yoke. Utility is the great idol of the time, to which all powers do homage and all subjects are subservient. 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. The very spirit of philosophical inquiry itself robs the imagination of one promise after another, and the frontiers of art are narrowed, in proportion as the limits of science are enlarged.

It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.

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