First, I Thought, Almost Despairing, This Must

That Was Only The Beginning - Where One Burns Books, One Will Finally Also Burn People.

With The Rose The Butterfly's Deep In Love, A Thousand Times Hovering Round; But Round Himself, All Tender Like Gold, The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Found.

All I Really Want Is Enough To Live On, A Little House In The Country... And A Tree In The Garden With Seven Of My Enemies Hanging In It.

Immortality—dazzling Idea! Who First Imagined Thee! Was It Some Jolly Burgher Of Nuremburg, Who With Night-cap On His Head, And White Clay Pipe In Mouth, Sat On Some Pleasant Summer Evening Before His Door, And Reflected In All His Comfort, That It Would Be Right Pleasant, If, With Unextinguishable Pipe, And Endless Breath, He Could Thus Vegetate Onwards For A Blessed Eternity? Or Was It A Lover, Who In The Arms Of His Loved One, Thought The Immortality-thought, And That Because He Could Think And Feel Naught Beside!—love! Immortality!

I Have Smelt All The Aromas There Are In The Fragrant Kitchen They Call Earth; And What We Can Enjoy In This Life, I Surely Have Enjoyed Just Like A Lord!