“Translation is at best an echo.”

“[M]ischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.”

“There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever.”

“Youth is the only season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of one's life are worth all the rest of the longest life of man, even though these be spent in penury and contempt, and the rest in possession of wealth, honors, respectability.”

“There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?”

“For that great Love speaks in the most wretched and dirty hearts; only the tone of its voice depends on the echoes of the place in which it sounds.”

“Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your own nervous system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to translate itself into some visible symptom.”