The propaganda of communism possesses a language which every people can understand. Its elements are simply hunger, envy, death.

Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle. For it stands halfway between thought and phenomenon, between spirit and matter.

He is noble who both feels and acts nobly.

Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.

A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone.

Since the Exodus, freedom has always spoken with a Hebrew accent.

A brainiac notices everything, an ignoramus comments about everything.