The plot! The plot! What kind of plot could a poet possibly provide that is not surpassed by the thinking, feeling reader? Form alone is divine.

Do not push so fast ahead, do slow down a bit! Otherwise you won't catch up with yourselves.

Man will return to his origins. Goethe has finally become as squiggly as the city of his fathers.

Reason and the ability to use it are two separate skills.

The verdict on Prince Metternich will soon be out: An excellent diplomat and a bad politician.

A cure by regression is homeopathic, like healing the damage done by ministers and ignorance with stupidity and Jesuits.

Piety is the fermentation of the forming mind and the putrefaction of the disintegrating one.