The dragon-fly is dancing, - Is on the water glancing, She flits about with nimble wing, The flickering, fluttering, restless thing. Besotted chafers all admire Her light-blue, gauze-like, neat attire; They laud her blue complexion, And think her shape perfection.

That was only the beginning - where one burns books, one will finally also burn people.

Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.

I have never seen an ass who talked like a human being, but I have met many human beings who talked like asses.

He only profits from praise who values criticism.

Nothing is sillier than this charge of plagiarism. There is no sixth commandment in art. The poet dare help himself wherever he lists, wherever he finds material suited to his work. He may even appropriate entire columns with their carved capitals, if the temple he thus supports be a beautiful one. Goethe understood this very well, and so did Shakespeare before him.

At first I was almost about to despair, I thought I never could bear it — but I did I bear it. The question remains: how?