Sorrento, August. For two weeks now I haven't heard a German word or understood an Italian one. This way one can manage to live with people; everything goes like clockwork and no irksome misunderstanding can arise.

In Berlin, things are serious but not hopeless. In Vienna, they are hopeless but not serious.

To be human is erroneous.

Adults who still derive childlike pleasure from hanging gifts of a ready-made education on the Christmas tree of a child waiting outside the door to life do not realize how unreceptive they are making the children to everything that constitutes the true surprise of life.

One cleans someone else's threshold of consciousness only if one's own home is dirty.

A school without grades must have been concocted by someone who was drunk on non-alcoholic wine.

The press, that goiter of the world, swells up with the desire for conquest and bursts with the achievements which every day brings. A week has room for the boldest climax of the human drive for expansion.