Wherever Books Are Burned, Human Beings Are

Our Sweetest Hopes Rise Blooming. And Then Again Are Gone, They Bloom And Fade Alternate, And So It Goes Rolling On. I Know It, And It Troubles My Life, My Love, My Rest, My Heart Is Wise And Witty, And It Bleeds Within My Breast.

The Men Of Action Are, After All, Only The Unconscious Instruments Of The Men Of Thought.

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Whether A Revolution Succeeds Or Fails People Of Great Hearts Will Always Be Sacrificed To It.

I Care Little In The Existence Of A Heaven Or Hell; Self Respect Does Not Allow Me To Guide My Acts With An Eye Toward Heavenly Salvation Or Hellish Punishment. I Pursue The Good In Life Because It Is Beautiful And Attracts Me; And Shun The Bad Because It Is Ugly And Repulsive. All Our Acts Should Originate From The Spring Of Unselfish Love, Whether There Be A Continuation After Death Or Not.