Wherever Books Are Burned, Human Beings Are

Jews Who Long Have Drifted From The Faith Of Their Fathers... Are Stirred In Their Inmost Parts When The Old, Familiar Passover Sounds Chance To Fall Upon Their Ears.

What Christian Love Cannot Do Is Effected By A Common Hatred.

Our Sweetest Hopes Rise Blooming. And Then Again Are Gone, They Bloom And Fade Alternate, And So It Goes Rolling On. I Know It, And It Troubles My Life, My Love, My Rest, My Heart Is Wise And Witty, And It Bleeds Within My Breast.

The Blossoms And Leaves In Plenty From The Apple Tree Fall Each Day; The Merry Breezes Approach Them, And With Them Merrily Play.

The Men Of The Past Had Convictions, While We Moderns Have Only Opinions.