would say with Lorenzo de Medici that all they are dead, even
for this life, who believe in no other.

"But such incomprehensible matters lie too far off to be a theme of
daily meditation and thought-distracting speculation. And further, let
him who believes in immortality be happy in silence; he has no reason to
hold his head high because of his conviction. Silly women, priding
themselves on believing with Tiedge in immortality, have been offended
at my declaring that in the future state I hoped I should meet none of
those who had believed in it here. For how I should be tormented! The
pious would crowd about me, saying, 'Were we not right? Did we not
predict it? Has it not turned out exactly so?' And thus even up yonder
there would be everlasting ennui."

_April_ 14, 1824. I went, about one, for a walk with Goethe. We
conversed on the style of different authors. Said he, "Philosophical
speculation is, on the whole, a hindrance to the Germans, for it tends
to induce a tendency to obscurantism. The nearer they approach to
certain philosophical schools, the worse they write. Those Germans write
best who, as business men, and men of real life, confine themselves to
the practical. Thus, Schiller's style is the noblest and most
impressive, as soon as he ceases to philosophise, as I see from his
highly interesting letters, on which I am now busy. Many of our genial
German women in their style excel even many of our famous male writers.

"The French, in their style, are consistent with their general
character. They are sociable by nature and as such never forget the
public whom they address. They take the trouble to be clear in order to
convince, and agreeable in order to please. The English, as a rule,
write well, as born orators and as practical and realistic men.
Altogether, the style of a writer is a true reflection of his mind. If
anyone would acquire a lucid style, let him first be clear in his
thoughts; if he would command a noble style, he must first possess a
noble character."

_May_ 2, 1824. During a drive over the hills through Upper Weimar we
could not look enough at the trees in blossom. We remarked that trees
full of white blossom should not be painted, because they make no
picture, just as birches with their foliage are unfit for the foreground
of a picture, because the delicate foliage does not adequately balance
the white trunk. Said Goethe, "Ruysdael never placed a foliaged birch in
the foreground, but o