It has been jestingly said that the works of John Paul Richter are almost unintelligible to any but the Germans, and even to some of them. A worthy German, just before Richter's death, edited a complete edition of his works, in which one particular passage fairly puzzled him. Determined to have it explained at the source, he went to John Paul himself. The author's reply was very characteristic: "My good friend, when I wrote that passage, God and I knew what it meant; it is possible that God knows it still; but as for me, I have totally forgotten."

A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a courageous person afterward.

In women everything is heart, even the head.

Remembrances last longer than present realities.

Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age, but the heart can.

Humankind's chief fault is that they have so many small ones.

Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something.