There, Where One Burns Books... One, In

Mine Is A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Wishes Are: A Humble Cottage With A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, The Freshest Milk And Butter, Flowers Before My Window, And A Few Fine Trees Before My Door; And If God Wants To Make My Happiness Complete, He Will Grant Me The Joy Of Seeing Some Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanging From Those Trees. Before Death I Shall, Moved In My Heart, Forgive Them All The Wrong They Did Me In Their Lifetime. One Must, It Is True, Forgive One's Enemies-- But Not Before They Have Been Hanged.

Wild, Dark Times Are Rumbling Toward Us, And The Prophet Who Wishes To Write A New Apocalypse Will Have To Invent Entirely New Beasts, And Beasts So Terrible That The Ancient Animal Symbols Of St. John Will Seem Like Cooing Doves And Cupids In Comparison.

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

I Am No Longer A Divine Biped. I Am No Longer The Freest German After Goethe, As Ruge Named Me In Healthier Days. I Am No Longer The Great Hero No. 2, Who Was Compared With The Grape-crowned Dionysius, Whilst My Colleague No. 1 Enjoyed The Title Of A Grand Ducal Weimarian Jupiter. I Am No Longer A Joyous, Somewhat Corpulent Hellenist, Laughing Cheerfully Down Upon The Melancholy Nazarenes. I Am Now A Poor Fatally-ill Jew, An Emaciated Picture Of Woe, An Unhappy Man.

Freedom Is A New Religion, The Religion Of Our Time.