I am no longer a divine biped. I am no longer the freest German after Goethe, as Ruge named me in healthier days. I am no longer the great hero No. 2, who was compared with the grape-crowned Dionysius, whilst my colleague No. 1 enjoyed the title of a Grand Ducal Weimarian Jupiter. I am no longer a joyous, somewhat corpulent Hellenist, laughing cheerfully down upon the melancholy Nazarenes. I am now a poor fatally-ill Jew, an emaciated picture of woe, an unhappy man.

Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.

Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward.

In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.

I bequeath all my property to my wife on the condition that she remarry immediately. Then there will be at least one man to regret my death.

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.

Never let a fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you. Oh, what lies there are in kisses!