Where books are burned in the end people will be burned too.

Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows one's nose.

Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle.

Every period of time is a sphinx that throws itself into the abyss as soon as its riddle has been solved.

Phychical pain is more easily borne than physical; and if I had my choice between a bad conscience and a bad tooth, I should choose the former.

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.

Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.