Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

The Foolish Race Of Mankind Are Swarming Below In The Night; They Shriek And Rage And Quarrel - And All Of Them Are Right.

And Once Again We Plighted Our Troth, And Titter'd, Caress'd, Kiss'd So Dearly.

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.

The Devil Take These People And Their Language! They Take A Dozen Monosyllabic Words In Their Jaws, Chew Them, Crunch Them And Spit Them Out Again, And Call That Speaking. Fortunately They Are By Nature Fairly Silent, And Although They Gaze At Us Open-mouthed, They Spare Us Long Conversations.