Every age thinks its battle the most important of all.

Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.

Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle. For it stands halfway between thought and phenomenon, between spirit and matter.

Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward.

I do not know the meaning of my sadness; there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.

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.

Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.