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

Love! Hate! Is there no third?

Ideas are not thoughts; the thought respects the boundaries that the idea ignores thereby failing to realize itself.

The present is never poetic as it serves necessity, necessity, however, is prosaic.

There is one privilege we'll never lose; currently it's called nationality. It means that everyone was born somewhere, which is infact self-evident.

Profundity easily turns into dullness and astuteness deteriorates into wit. Be guided by natural common sense and it will accommodate great and small.

Just as the queen bee, the highest-ranking, peerless creature of her hive, is surrounded by lowly drones to please her, whereas the workers produce honey, the same way is the one who sits on the throne an equal only to himself, and no one's companion.