Not far from our house, and opposite the old church with the golden cross, stood a large building, even larger than the church, and having many towers.
The first pages of memory are like the old family Bible. The first leaves are wholly faded and somewhat soiled with handling. But, when we turn further, and come to the chapters where Adam and Eve were banished from Paradise, then, all begins to grow clear and legible.
Soon the child learns that there are strangers, and ceases to be a child.
Thus one memory follows another until the waves dash together over our heads, and a deep sigh swells the breast, which warns us that we have forgotten to breathe in the midst of these pure thoughts.
While the river of life glides along smoothly, it remains the same river; only the landscape on either bank seems to change.
I was so astonished that another had penetrated so deeply into the secrets of my soul, and that he knew what I did not know myself, that when I recovered from it he had already been long upon the street.
Childhood has its secrets and its mysteries; but who can tell or who can explain them!
But only God can make a tree.
The spring of love becomes hidden and soon filled up.
And then when all around grows dark, when we feel utterly alone, when all men right and left pass us by and know us not, a forgotten feeling rises in the breast.