To reach the crown of manhood’s perfect stature,
The goal for which with all my life of life I strain?
Mephistopheles.
Thou art, do what thou wilt, just what thou art.
Heap wigs on wigs by millions on thy head,
And upon yard-high buskins tread,
Still thou remainest simply what thou art.
Faust.
I feel it well, in vain have I uphoarded
All treasures that the mind of man afforded,