Thinking Of Germany In The Night Robs

I Do Not Know If She Was Virtuous, But She Was Ugly, And With A Woman That Is Half The Battle.

Lyrical Poetry Is Much The Same An Every Age, As The Songs Of The Nightingales In Every Spring-time.

Religion Cannot Sink Lower Than When Somehow It Is Raised To A State Religion ... It Becomes Then An Avowed Mistress.

There, Where One Burns Books... One, In The End, Burns Men.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle.