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Glib tongues frill up their hash of knowledgefor mankind in polished speechesthat are no more than vaporous windsrustling the fallen leaves in autumn.

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Men grieve [Mephistopheles] so with the days of their lamenting, [he] even hate[s] to plague them with [his] torments.

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Being full of mischief, they love to listen;they gladly obey, for they like to betray you,pretending to be sent from Heaven,and lisping like angels, w...more

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Must it so be that whatever makes man happy must later become the source of his misery?

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Classicism is health, romanticisim is sickness.

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This is the true measure of love: when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will ever lo...more

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The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers & cities; but to know someone who thinks & feels with us, & who, though distant, is clos...more

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Love and desire are the spirit's wings to great deeds.

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What you inherit from your fathermust first be earned before it's yours.

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When a human awakens to a great dream and throws the full force of his soul over it, all the universe conspires in your favor.

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I love those who yearn for the impossible.

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If I love you, what business is it of yours?

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One who has passed the thirtieth yearalready is as good as dead--it would be best to kill you off by then.

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When he comes to the doorhe always looks mocking and half-way angry.You can see he has sympathy for nothing.It's written on his foreheadthat he can lo...more

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If I wasn't a devil myself I'd give Me up to the Devil this very minute.