The Hour-Hand of Life --- Life consists of rare, isolated moments of the greatest significance, and of innumerably many intervals, during which at best the silhouettes of those moments hover about us. Love, springtime, every beautiful melody, mountains, the moon, the sea - all these speak completely to the heart but once, if in fact they ever do get a chance to speak completely. For many men do not have those moments at all, and are themselves intervals and intermissions in the symphony of real life.

People who, out of an inborn moderation, leave every glass standing only half-emptied refuse to admit that everything in the world has its sediments and dregs.

Love forgives the lover even his lust.

Was that life? Well then, once more!

In truth,there was only one christian and he died on the cross.

The poet presents his thoughts festively, on the carriage of rhythm: usually because they could not walk.

It is only possible through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of mankind is very weakly developed in the individual.