From every Englishman emanates a kind of gas, the deadly choke-damp of boredom.
The air grows cool and darkles, The Rhine flows calmly on; The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun.
Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
Nothing is sillier than this charge of plagiarism. There is no sixth commandment in art. The poet dare help himself wherever he lists, wherever he finds material suited to his work. He may even appropriate entire columns with their carved capitals, if the temple he thus supports be a beautiful one. Goethe understood this very well, and so did Shakespeare before him.
Where books are burnt, men finish up being burnt too.
She resembles the Venus de Milo: she is very old, has no teeth, and has white spots on her yellow skin.
Oh, what lies there are in kisses.
The fundamental evil of the world arose from the fact that the good Lord has not created money enough.
I wept in my dreams. I dreamed you lay in the grave; I awoke, and the tears still poured down my cheeks. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you had left me; I awoke and I went on weeping long and bitterly. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you were still kind to me; I awoke, and still the flow of my tears streams on.
The people have no ear, either for rhythm or music, and their unnatural passion for pianoforte playing and singing is thus all the more repulsive. There is nothing on earth more terrible than English music, except English painting.
The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.
Graves they say are warm'd by glory; Foolish words and empty story.
Where words cease, there music begins.
But oh! the Latin!-Madame, you can really have no idea of what a mess it is. The Romans would never have found time to conquer the world if they had been obliged first to learn Latin. Lucky dogs! they already knew in their cradles the nouns ending in im. I on the contrary had to learn it by heart, in the sweat of my brow.
I have smelt all the aromas there are in the fragrant kitchen they call Earth; and what we can enjoy in this life, I surely have enjoyed just like a lord!
Every woman is the gift of a world to me.
Reason exercises merely the function of preserving order, is, so to say, the police in the region of art. In life it is mostly a cold arithmetician summing up our follies.
Literary history is the great morgue where all seek the dead ones whom they love, or to whom they are related.
The lotus flower is troubled At the sun's resplendent light; With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night.
Laughter is wholesome. God is not so dull as some people make out. Did not He make the kitten to chase its tail.
Oh what lies there are in kisses! And their guile so well prepared! Sweet the snaring is; but this is Sweeter still, to be ensnared.
He who fights with priests may make up his mind to have his poor good name torn and befouled by the most infamous lies and the most cutting slanders.
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.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood.
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