There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.
High in the air rises the forest of oaks, high over the oaks soar the eagle, high over the eagle sweep the clouds, high over the clouds gleam the stars... high over the stars sweep the angels.
Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
The men of the past had convictions, while we moderns have only opinions.
Where books are burnt, men finish up being burnt too.