Must it ever be thus-that the source of our happiness must also be the fountain of our misery? The full and ardent sentiment which animated my heart with the love of nature, overwhelming me with a torrent of delight, and which brought all paradise before me, has now become an insupportable torment, a demon which perpetually pursues and harrasses me.

Everything factual is, in a sense, theory. The blue of the sky exhibits the basic laws of chromatics. There is no sense in looking for something behind phenomena: they are theory.

Divide and rule, the politician cries; unite and lead, is watchword of the wise.

None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.

One's roused by this, another finds that fit: Each loves the play for what he brings to it.

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.

The new vulcanism is really a daring attempt to connect the present, incomprehensible world to a past, unknown one.