The German intellect wants the French sprightliness, the fine practical understanding of the English, and the American adventure; but it has a certain probity, which never rests in a superficial performance, but asks steadily, To what end? A German public asks for a controlling sincerity.
Love Came. . . . and became like blood in my body. It rushed through my veins and encircled my Heart. Everywhere I looked, I saw One Thing. . . . Love's Name written on my limbs, on my left palm, on my forehead, on the back of my neck, on my right big toe. . . Oh, my friend, all that you see of me is just a shell, and the rest belongs to Love.