Where Books Are Burned In

At Dresden On The Elbe, That Handsome City, Where Straw Hats, Verses, And Cigars Are Made, They've Built (it Well May Make Us Feel Afraid,) A Music Club And Music Warehouse Pretty.

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.

No Talent, But Yet A Character. [ger., Kein Talent, Doch Ein Charakter.]

The Swan, Like The Soul Of The Poet, By The Dull World Is Ill Understood.

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.