Virtue is not a bad garment, but it requires an imposing figure.

I do not believe in pathos. Our elders show us long faces in order to hide their stupidity.

The sublime humorist is the most miserable, most pitiable creature in creation.

To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation. – – It fell at my feet during the first vacation days. I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood – – I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut.

Melchior. What good does that do? Moritz. What good does it have to do? – – We are fit for nothing more, neither good nor evil.

Ernest. Oh, I can’t eat any more. Hans. Just this shining muscatelle! Ernest. My elasticity has its limit.

Half happy. We wander among Mayflowers, among the lonely paths in the woods. We hover over gatherings of people, over the scene of accidents, gardens, festivals. We cower in chimneys of dwelling places and behind the bed curtains. Give me your hand. We don’t associate with each other, but we see and hear everything that is going on in the world. We know that everything is stupidity, everything that men do and contend for, and we laugh at it.

If I ever have children I will let them grow up like the weeds in our flower garden. Nobody worries about them and they grow so high and thick-while the roses in the beds grow poorer and poorer every summer.

I was a baby when I came into the world – otherwise I might have been smart enough to become a different person.

I didn’t ask to be born, and I don’t owe God anything.