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
Breath
Infidelity
Breaths
Unbelief
Rarefied
Air
Fog
Expires
Rather
Superstition
Panting
Nothing
Breast
Gasping
Would
Dwell
Vainly
Superstitions
Pump
Breasts
Pumps

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Repetition is the mother of education.
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The look of a king is itself a deed.
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It is simpler and easier to flatter people than to praise them.
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Every man has a rainy corner of his life whence comes foul weather which follows him.
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He thought of the mouldering child, which laid its withered thin arms around his soul, as if it were his own, and to whom Death had given as much as a god gave to Endymion, — sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.
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The burden of suffering seems a tombstone hung about our necks, while in reality it is only the weight which is necessary to keep down the diver while he is hunting for pearls.
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Each departed friend is a magnet that attracts us to the next world.
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Man has here two and a half minutes-one to smile, one to sigh, and a half to love: for in the midst of this minute he dies.
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It is not the end of joy that makes old age so sad, but the end of hope.
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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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For no one does life drag more disagreeably than for those who try to speed it up.
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Passion makes the best observations and the sorriest conclusions.
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Every man regards his own life as the New Year's Eve of time.
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A sky full of silent suns.
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The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.
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Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
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Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of life.
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No heroine can create a hero through love of one, but she can give birth to one
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Despair is the only genuine atheism.
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