There is no Sixth Commandment in art. The poet is entitled to lay his hands on whatever material he finds necessary for his work.

My heart resembles the ocean; has storm, and ebb and flow; and many a beautiful pearl lies hid in its depths below.

With his nightcaps and the tatters of his dressing-gown he patches up the gaps in the structure of the universe.

Oh, what lies there are in kisses.

I live, which is the main point.

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.

Das war ein vorspeil nur; That was only a prelude; dort wo man Buecher verbrennt, Where one burns books, vebrennt man auch am Ende One will also burn people Menchen. Eventually.