Matrimony; the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.

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.

Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.

Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.

God will forgive me. It's his job." Heine said this on his deathbed (1856). Hilarious. He must have thought that up years before and counted the seconds to use it.

Oh, they loved dearly: their souls kissed, they kissed with their eyes, they were both but one single kiss.

A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone.