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Durch die Eisenbahn wird Raum getötet, und es bleibt nur noch die Zeit übrig.

The real madness probably is not another thing that the wisdom itself that, tired of discovering the shames of the world, has taken the intelligent resolution to become mad

We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged

If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found the time to conquer the world.

This was but a prelude; where books are burnt human-beings will be burnt in the end

Where they burn books, at the end they also burn people

One should forgive one’s enemies, but not before they are hanged.

Fatal ist mir das Lumpenpack,Das, um die Herzen zu rühren,Den Patriotismus trägt zur SchauMit allen seinen Geschwüren.

Lieb Liebchen, leg ‘s Händchen aufs Herze mein; -Ach, hörst du, wie’s pochet im Kämmerlein,Da hauset ein Zimmermann schlimm und arg,Der zimmert mir einen Totensarg.Es hämmert und klopfet bei Tag und bei Nacht;Es hat mich...

Sie liebten sich beide, doch keinerWollt es dem andern gestehn;Sie sahen sich an so feindlich,Und wollten vor Liebe vergehn.Sie trennten sich endlich und sahn sichNur noch zuweilen im Traum;Sie waren längst gestorben,Und wußten es selber...

Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.

Iron helmets will not save/Even heroes from the grave/Good man’s blood will drain away/While the wickid win the day.

First, I thought, almost despairing,This must crush my spirit now;Yet I bore it, and am bearing-Only do not ask me how.

Im Kopfe trage ich Bijouterien,Der Zukunft Krondiamanten,Die Tempelkleinodien des neuen Gotts,Des grossen Unbekannten.

A pine tree standeth lonelyIn the North on an upland bare;It standeth whitely shroudedWith snow, and sleepeth there.It dreameth of a Palm treeWhich far in the East alone,In the mournful silence standethOn its ridge of...

Das war ein Vorspiel nur; dort wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.”(Almansor)

The music at a wedding procession always reminds me of the music of soldiers going into battle.

He only profits from praise who values criticism.

And yonder sits a maiden, The fairest of the fair, With gold in her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair.

I once saw many flowers blooming Upon my way, in indolence I scorned to pick them in my going And passed in proud indifference.Now, when my grave is dug, they taunt me; Now, when I’m...

Where words leave off, music begins.

Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings.

The arrow belongs not to the archer when it has once left the bow; the word no longer belongs to the speaker when it has once passed his lips.