Quotes By Georg Buchner

The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.

There are only Epicureans, either crude or refined; Christ was the most refined.

Peace to the shacks! War on the palaces!

That is a long word: forever!

We are only puppets, our strings are being pulled by unknown forces.

We are always on stage, even when we are stabbed in earnest at the end.

The world is chaos. Nothingness is the yet-to-be-born god of the world.

Death is the most blessed dream.

The life of the wealthy is one long Sunday.

Government must be a transparent garment which tightly clings to the people's body.

We have not made the Revolution, the Revolution has made us.

The power of the people and the power of reason are one.

Your words smell of corpses.

Raise your eyes and count the small gang of your oppressors who are only strong through the blood they suck from you and through your arms which you lend them unwillingly.

The strides of humanity are slow, they can only be counted in centuries.

Dying people often become childish.

The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.

The weapon of the Republic is terror, and virtue is its strength.

The revolutionary government is the despotism of liberty against tyranny.

Revolution is like Saturn, it devours its own children.

You women could make someone fall in love even with a lie.

The statue of Freedom has not been cast yet, the furnace is hot, we can all still burn our fingers.

How many women does one need to sing the scale of love all the way up and down?

Love is a peculiar thing.

They say in the grave there is peace, and peace and the grave are one and the same.

Whoever finishes a revolution only halfway, digs his own grave.

One must love humanity in order to reach out into the unique essence of each individual: no one can be too low or too ugly.

Murder begins where self-defense ends.

I'll know how to die with courage; that is easier than living.

The death clock is ticking slowly in our breast, and each drop of blood measures its time, and our life is a lingering fever.