Reduced to a miserable mass level, the level of a Hitler, German Romanticism broke out into hysterical barbarism.

What we call National-Socialism is the poisonous perversion of ideas which have a long history in German intellectual life.

We do not fear being called meticulous, inclining as we do to the view that only the exhaustive can be truly interesting.

It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.

War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace.

Innate in nearly every artistic nature is a wanton, treacherous penchant for accepting injustice when it creates beauty and showing sympathy for and paying homage to aristocratic privilege.

For the myth is the foundation of life; it is the timeless schema, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious.