Criticism (n.) is honest when it seeks out the good and strong side of the object of criticism, and evolves and develops it itself.
Criticism (n.) is to seek out the good and strong side, to advance what is imperfect and evolving rather than to see through it in its imperfection and deny it.
Criticism (n.) is without content; blame is interchangeable with praise — we always opt for whichever affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment.
Criticism (n.) is not something arbitrary and impersonal—it is, at least very often, a proof that there are lively, active forces in us, which cast a skin.
Criticism (n.) denies, and must deny, because something in us wants to live and affirm itself, something we perhaps do not as yet know or see.
Criticism (n.) of an ideal is never levelled at the ideal itself, only at why it has not yet been realised, or is not demonstrable in small things as in great.
Criticism (n.) is all a work produces now, and the critique produces only a further critique; the critics' pens never cease to flow, for they no longer direct them but are directed by them.
Criticism (n.) falls hardest on a thinker's unpleasing propositions — when it should fall hardest on the ones that please us.
Criticism (n.) gives the critic such pleasure, just or unjust, that the world owes thanks to every work that invites it — the god of joy created the bad and mediocre for the same reason as the good.
Criticism (n.) is sharpest when it sketches out the ideal of a man or a book.
Criticism (n.) is not reason's victory over an error but new life shedding a skin: what killed the old opinion was your new life, and unreason crawls out of it like a worm.