The men of the past had convictions, while we moderns have only opinions.

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.

Out of my great sorrows, I make little songs.

The beauteous dragonfly's dancing By the waves of the rivulet glancing; She dances here and she dances there, The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. Full many a beetle with loud applause Admires her dress of azure gauze, Admires her body's bright splendour, And also her figure so slender...

All I really want is enough to live on, a little house in the country... and a tree in the garden with seven of my enemies hanging in it.

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

Woman is at once apple and serpent.