If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.

At noon I feel as though I could devour all the elephants of Hindostan, and then pick my teeth with the spire of Strasburg cathedral; in the evening I become so sentimental that I would fain drink up the Milky Way without reflecting how indigestible I should find the little fixed stars, and by night there is the Devil himself broke loose in my head and no mistake.

Matrimony; the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.

God will pardon: That's His business.

The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.

I do not murmur, even if my heart break.

This was but a prelude; where books are burnt human-beings will be burnt in the end