I do not know the meaning of my sadness; there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.
Jews who long have drifted from the faith of their fathers... are stirred in their inmost parts when the old, familiar Passover sounds chance to fall upon their ears.
The sun's sweet ray is hovering discovered.
From every Englishman emanates a kind of gas, the deadly choke-damp of boredom.
Money is the god of our time, and Rothschild is his prophet.
Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid