Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.

Our souls must become expanded by the contemplation of Nature's grandeur, before we can fully comprehend the greatness of man.

Immortality—dazzling idea! who first imagined thee! Was it some jolly burgher of Nuremburg, who with night-cap on his head, and white clay pipe in mouth, sat on some pleasant summer evening before his door, and reflected in all his comfort, that it would be right pleasant, if, with unextinguishable pipe, and endless breath, he could thus vegetate onwards for a blessed eternity? Or was it a lover, who in the arms of his loved one, thought the immortality-thought, and that because he could think and feel naught beside!—Love! Immortality!

I take pride in never being rude to anyone on this earth, which contains a great number of unbearable villains who set upon you to recount their sufferings and even recite their poems.

Where books are burnt, men finish up being burnt too.

I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.

The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.