Out of my own great woe I make my little songs.

A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.

Religion cannot sink lower than when somehow it is raised to a state religion ... It becomes then an avowed mistress.

The sun's sweet ray is hovering discovered.

Woman is at once apple and serpent.

The butterfly long loved the beautiful rose, And flirted around all day; While round him in turn with her golden caress, Soft fluttered the sun's warm ray.... I know not with whom the rose was in love, But I know that I loved them all. The butterfly, rose, and the sun's bright ray, The star and the bird's sweet call.

Every woman is the gift of a world to me.