All special charters of freedom must be abrogated where the universal law of freedom is to flourish.
The Bible is the great family chronicle of the Jews.
Newness hath an evanescent beauty.
Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on.
The artist is the child in the popular fable, every one of whose tears was a pearl.
The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.
High in the air rises the forest of oaks, high over the oaks soar the eagle, high over the eagle sweep the clouds, high over the clouds gleam the stars... high over the stars sweep the angels.
Atheism is the last word of theism
Perhaps already I am dead, And these perhaps are phantoms vain; - These motley phantasies that pass At night through my disordered brain. Perhaps with ancient heathen shapes, Old faded gods, this brain is full; Who, for their most unholy rites, Have chosen a dead poet's skull.
No author is a man of genius to his publisher.
I have a most peaceable disposition. My desires are for a modest hut, a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, very fresh milk and butter, flowers in front of my window and a few pretty trees by my door. And should the good Lord wish to make me really happy, he will allow me the pleasure of seeing about six or seven of my enemies hanged upon those trees.
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.
The fountain of love is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.
Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.
Life is the greatest of blessings and death the worst of evils.... all great, powerful souls love life.
Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.
You talk of our having an idea; we do not have an idea. The idea has us, and martyrs us, and scourges us, and drives us into the arena to fight and die for it, whether we want to or not.
In earlier religions the spirit of the time was expressed through the individual and confirmed by miracles. In modern religions the spirit is expressed through the many and confirmed by reason.
In these times we fight for ideas and newspapers are our fortress.
He who fears to venture as far as his heart urges and his reason permits, is a coward; he who ventures further than he intended to go, is a slave.
In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
Religion cannot sink lower than when somehow it is raised to a state religion ... It becomes then an avowed mistress.
Man,--the aristocrat amongst the animals.
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