Quote

I would rather dwell in the dim fog of superstition than in air rarefied to nothing by the air-pump of unbelief-in which the panting breast expires, vainly and convulsively gasping for breath.

Jean Paul

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Jean Paul
Age: 62 †
Born: 1763
Born: March 21
Died: 1825
Died: November 14
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Johann Paul Friedrich Richter
Jean Paul Richter
Zhen Polʹ Friderik Rikhter
Jean Paul
Johann Paul Richter
Breasts
Pumps
Breath
Infidelity
Rarefied
Breaths
Unbelief
Expires
Air
Fog
Panting
Rather
Superstition
Nothing
Breast
Gasping
Would
Dwell
Vainly
Superstitions
Pump

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For no one does life drag more disagreeably than for those who try to speed it up.
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It is easier and handier for men to flatter than to praise.
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People will not bear it when advice is violently given, even if it is well founded. Hearts are flowers they remain open to the softly falling dew, but shut up in the violent downpour of rain.
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Individuality is to be preserved and respected everywhere, as the root of everything good.
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Never part without loving words to think of during your absence. It may be that you will not meet again in this life.
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Romanticism is beauty without bounds-the beautiful infinite.
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In later life, as in earlier, only a few persons influence the formation of our character the multitude pass us by like a distant army. One friend, one teacher, one beloved, one club, one dining table, one work table are the means by which one's nation and the spirit of one's nation affect the individual.
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Sorrows gather around great souls as storms do around mountains but, like them, they break the storm and purify the air of the plain beneath them.
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A variety of nothing is superior to a monotony of something.
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The gymnasium of running, walking on stilts, climbing, etc. stells and makes hardy single powers and muscles, but dancing, like a corporeal poesy, embellishes, exercises, and equalizes all the muscles at once.
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Despair is the only genuine atheism.
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The romance of life begins and ends with two blank pages. Age and extreme old age.
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Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age, but the heart can.
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Beauty attracts us men but if, like an armed magnet it is pointed, beside, with gold and silver, it attracts with tenfold power.
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If self-knowledge is the road to virtue, so is virtue still more the road to self-knowledge.
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As a man grows older it is harder and harder to frighten him.
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We learn our virtues from our friends who love us our faults from the enemy who hates us. We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend. He is a mirror, on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of the reflection.
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Like the greatest virtue and the worst dogs, the fiercest hatred is silent.
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The last, best fruit which comes to late perfection, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness toward the hard, forbearance toward the unforbearing, warmth of heart toward the cold, philanthropy toward the misanthropic.
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In women everything is heart, even the head.
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