Each bud flowers but once and each flower has but its minute of perfect beauty; so, in the garden of the soul each feeling has, as it were, its flowering instant, its one and only moment of expansive grace and radiant kingship. Each star passes but once in the night through the meridian over our heads and shines there but an instant; so, in the heaven of the mind each though touches its zenith but once, and in that moment all its brilliancy and all its greatness culminate. Artist, poet or thinker - if you want to fix and immortalise your ideas or your feelings, seize them at this precise fleeting moment, for it is their highest point. Before it, you have but vague outlines or dim presentiments of them. After it, you will only have weakened reminiscences or powerless regret; that moment is the moment of your ideal.
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taken from:
Amiel's Journal Dec. 30th 1850 page 5.
