Aphorisms and citations from the works of Western literature. Aphorisms and quotes from works of Western literature Important quotes from Karl and Franz Schiller the Robbers

Quotes from Friedrich Schiller's tragedy The Robbers, 1781
- Do you want me to curse my son? - (Count von Moore)
- No no! You don't have to curse your son! Who do you call your son? The one to whom you gave life and who is doing everything to shorten yours? - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, about brother Karl)
I have every right to be dissatisfied with nature, and I swear on my honor that I will use them. Why wasn't I the first to emerge from my mother's womb?* Why not the only one? Why did nature put this burden of ugliness on me? Just for me? Like she went bankrupt before I was born. Why exactly did I get this Lapland nose? This mouth is like a black man? Those Hottentot eyes? In fact, it seems to me that she took the most vile of all human races, mixed them into a pile and baked me from such a dough. Hell and death! Who gave her the right to give him everything by taking everything from me? Can anyone appease her before she was born, or hurt her before she sees the light? Why was she so prejudiced about the matter? No no! I am unfair to her. Having landed us, naked and miserable, on the shores of this boundless ocean - life, she gave us an inventive mind. Swim, who can swim, and awkward - sink! She did nothing for me on the road. Everything that I become will be the work of my hands. Everyone has the same rights to big and small. Claim breaks against claim, striving against striving, power against power. Law is on the side of the winner, and the law for us is only the limits of our strength. - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
There are, of course, some generally accepted concepts invented by people to keep the pulse of the world order. An honest name is, indeed, a valuable coin: you can profit well by skillfully putting it into circulation. Conscience - oh, this is an excellent scarecrow to drive away sparrows from cherry trees, or, rather, a cleverly drawn up bill that will extricate you from trouble and bankruptcy. What can I say, very commendable notions! They keep the fools in reshpekt, the mob under the heel, and they untie the hands of the wise men. Jokes aside, funny concepts! - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
The one who is not afraid of anything is no less powerful than the one whom everyone is afraid of. Now buckles on pantaloons are in fashion, allowing, at will, either to tighten or to dissolve them. We order our conscience to be sewn into a new style, in order to stretch it wider when we get it right! Our business side! Ask a tailor! - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
I've been lied to so much about so-called blood love that any honest fool would have his head spinning. "It's your brother!" Let's translate it into the language of reason: it was taken out of the same furnace from which you were also taken out, and therefore it is ... sacred to you. Think about this wisest syllogism, this ridiculous conclusion: from the neighborhood of bodies to the harmony of souls, from a common place of birth to a community of feelings, from the same food to the same inclinations. And further: "This is your father! He gave you life, you are his flesh and blood, and therefore he is ... sacred to you." Another clever syllogism! But the question is, why did he bring me into the world? After all, not out of love for me, when I still had to become myself. Did he know me before he made me? Or did he want to make me what I became? Or, wanting to create just me, did he know what would come of me? I hope not: otherwise I would have to punish him for having brought me into the world after all. Shall I thank him for being born a man? As pointless as complaining if I were a woman! Can I recognize love that is not based on respect for my "I"? And how could there be respect for my "I" here, when this "I" itself arose from what should have served as a prerequisite? Where is the sacred here? Is it not in the very act by which I came into being? But he was nothing more than a bestial satisfaction of bestial instincts. Or perhaps the result of this act is sacred? But we would gladly get rid of it, if it did not threaten the danger of our flesh and blood. Or should I praise my father for loving me? But this is only vanity, the original sin of all artists who boast of their work, even if it is ugly. Here is all the sorcery that you have so firmly enveloped in the sacred fog in order to use our cowardice for evil. Is it really possible for me, as a child, to walk on these harnesses? - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
Oh, how disgusting this age of mediocre scribblers becomes to me when I read in my dear Plutarch about the great men of antiquity. The sparkling spark of Prometheus went out. "She was replaced by a powdered powder - a theatrical fire, from which you can’t even smoke a pipe. The French abbot claims that Alexander was a pitiful coward; a consumptive professor, who at every word brings a bottle of ammonia to his nose, lectures on strength; thugs who, having once cheated ready to faint with fear, criticize Hannibal's tactics, yellow-mouthed boys fish out phrases about the Battle of Cannae and whimper, translating texts telling about the victories of Scipio. and schoolchildren grudgingly carry your immortality in knapsacks! A good reward for generously spilled blood is to go for a penny gingerbread wrapper in a Nuremberg merchant's shop, or, in case of special luck, fall into the hands of a French playwright who will put you on stilts and begin to pull the strings! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)
Damn it, this frail age of castrati, capable only of chewing on the exploits of bygone times, vilifying the heroes of antiquity in the comments or twisting them in tragedies. The strength in his loins has dried up, and people are now being bred with the help of brewer's yeast! They cripple their healthy nature with vulgar conventions, they are afraid to drain a glass of wine: what if you drink for the wrong thing, they flatter before the last lackey so that he puts in a word for them from his lordship, and poison the poor man, because he is not terrible to them; they praise each other to the skies for a successful dinner and are ready to poison each other because of the bedding that was intercepted from them at the auction. They curse the Sadducee (Sadducees - a religious and political sect in Ancient Judea) for visiting the temple industriously, while they themselves calculate their usurious interest at the altar; they bend their knees to loosen their cloaks more pompously, and keep their eyes on the preacher, looking for how his wig is curled; they swoon when they see a goose being slaughtered and applaud when their competitor goes bankrupt on the stock exchange. - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)
Is it for me to squeeze my body with lacing, and lace up my will with laws? The law makes him crawl like a snail and he who could fly like an eagle! The law has not created a single great man, only freedom gives rise to giants and high impulses. - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)
Freedom must also have a master. Rome and Sparta perished without a head. - (Roller, robber)
People! People! False, treacherous echidnas! Their tears are water! Their hearts are iron! A kiss on the lips - and a dagger in the heart! Lions and leopards feed their cubs, ravens carry carrion to their chicks, and he, he ... I learned to endure black malice. I can smile as I watch my sworn enemy raise a glass filled with the blood of my heart ... But if blood love betrays me, if the love of a father turns into a vixen - oh, then kindle with flame, forbearance of a husband, turn into a tiger, meek lamb, each vein is filled with malice and death! [...] I loved him so unspeakably! No son has ever loved his father so much! I would give a thousand lives for him! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)
People shielded humanity from me when I called out to humanity. Away from me compassion and human mercy! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)
- Get out! Oh, this child-loving, merciful father, who gave his son to be eaten by wolves and monsters! Sitting at home, he delights himself with expensive wines and rests his decrepit body on feather pillows, while his great, beautiful son is in the grip of need! Be ashamed, you monsters! Be ashamed, dragon hearts! You are a disgrace to mankind! His only son ... - (Amalia to Count von Moore)
- I thought he had two of them. - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
Yes, he deserves sons like you. On his deathbed, he will vainly stretch out his withered hands to his Karl and draw them back in horror, touching the icy hand of Franz. Oh, how sweet, how infinitely sweet to be cursed by your father! - (Amalie to Franz)

Schiller Friedrich

Rogues

Friedrich Schiller

Rogues

Translation by Natalia Man

Poems translated by M. Dostoevsky

Quae medlcamenta non zanat, f_e_r_r_u_m sanat: quae

ferrum non sanat, i_g_n_i_s sanat.

Hippokrates (*1)

In tyrannos! (*2)

(*1 What drugs do not heal, zh_e_l_e_z_o heals; what iron does not heal, o_g_o_n_b heals. Hippocrates (lat.).

*2 On tyrants! (lat.))

CHARACTERS

Maximilian, Sovereign Count von Moore.

) his sons.

Amalia von Edelreich.

Spiegelberg |

Schweitzer |

Ratsman) dissolute young people,

Schafterle | then robbers.

Kosinsky |

German, the natural son of a nobleman.

Daniel, Count von Moor's servant.

Pastor Moser.

Band of robbers.

Secondary characters.

Location - Germany; time is about two years.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

Franconia*. Hall in the castle of Moors.

Franz, old man Moor.

Franz. Are you well, father? You are so pale.

Old Moor. Hello my son. Did you want to tell me something?

Franz. The mail has arrived... A letter from Leipzig from our lawyer...

Old Man Moore (excitedly). News of my son Carl?

Franz. Hm, hm! You guessed! But I'm afraid ... Really, I don't know ... After all, your health ... Are you sure you feel well, father?

Old Moor. Like a fish in water! Is he writing about my son? But why are you so worried about me? The second time you ask me about health.

Franz. If you are sick, if you feel even a slight malaise, thank you ... I will wait for a more opportune moment. (In an undertone.) This news is not for a frail old man.

Old Moor. God! God! What will I hear?

Franz. Let me first step aside and shed a tear of compassion for my erring brother. I should have kept silent about him forever because he is your son; should forever hide his shame - he is my brother. But to obey you is my first, sad duty. So don't ask...

Old Moor. Oh Carl, Carl! If only you knew how you torment your father's heart with your behavior! One single piece of good news about you would add ten years to my life, turn me into a young man... But - ah! - each new message brings me one step closer to the grave!

Franz. Oh, if so, poor old man, goodbye! Otherwise, today we will tear your hair over your coffin.

OLD MAN MOORE (sinking into an armchair). Don't go! I have only one step left to take ... And Karl ... Free will! The sins of the fathers are exacted in the third and fourth generation... Let them finish!

FRANZ (takes out a letter from his pocket). Do you know our lawyer? Oh, I would cut off my hand for the right to say: he is a liar, a low, black liar! Gather your strength! Forgive me for not letting you read the letter yourself. You don't have to know everything yet.

Old Moor. Everything, everything! Son, you will deliver me from a feeble old age. .

Franz (reading). "Leipzig, the first of May. If I were not bound by an indestructible word to tell you, dear friend, everything that I learn about the adventures of your brother, my humble pen would not torment you so much. I know from your many letters that such news pierces your brotherly heart. I can already see how you shed burning tears because of this vile, dissolute..."

Old Moor covers his face with his hands.

You see, father, I am still reading the most innocent... "... you shed burning tears..." Ah, they flowed, they poured in salty streams down my cheeks! "I already see how your old, respectable father, deathly pale..." God! You really turned pale, although you still don’t know a small fraction! ..

Franz. "... deathly pale, falls into an armchair, cursing the day when he first heard the babble: "Father." I can't think of anything that hasn't already been done by him, but perhaps his mind will be more inventive than mine. Last night, having made a debt of forty thousand ducats..." Good pocket money , father! "... and before that, having dishonored the daughter of a wealthy banker and mortally wounding her admirer, a worthy young nobleman, in a duel, Karl and seven other comrades whom he involved in a dissolute life made a significant decision - to flee from the hands of justice." Father! For God's sake, father! What's wrong with you?

Old Moor. Stop it, my son!

Franz. I will spare you. "A fugitive letter was sent after him... The offended cry out for vengeance. His head is valued... The name of the Moors..." No! My unfortunate tongue will not become parricide. (Tears the letter.) Do not believe the letter, father! Don't believe a single word!

Old Man Moor (weeping bitterly). My name! My honest name!

Franz (falls on his chest). Despicable, thrice despicable Karl! Didn't I foresee this even in my childhood, When we delighted our souls with prayers, and he, like a criminal from a dungeon, turned his eyes away from God's temple, dragged after girls, chased through meadows and mountains with street boys and all sorts of rabble, begged for coins from you and threw them into the hat of the first beggar he met? Didn't I foresee this, seeing that he reads the biographies of Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great and other equally impious pagans more willingly than the life of the penitent Tobius? - that this boy will plunge us into shame and death. Oh, if he did not bear the name of Moors! If only I had less love for him in my heart! Godless love that I can't tear out of my heart! She will testify against me before the throne of the Most High.

Old Moor. Oh my hopes! My golden dreams!

Franz. That's it. What am I telling you about. This ardent spirit that wanders in the boy, you used to say then, which makes him so sensitive to everything great and beautiful, this sincerity, thanks to which his soul, as in a mirror, is reflected in his eyes, this sensitivity, which makes him shed burning tears at the sight of any suffering, that courageous courage that incites him to climb the tops of hundred-year-old oaks and whirlwind through ditches, hedges and rushing streams, this childish ambition, this unyielding perseverance and other brilliant virtues that bloom in the heart of your beloved - oh, in time they will from him a true friend, an exemplary citizen, a hero, a great, great man! Look at it now, father! The ardent spirit developed, grew stronger - and what wonderful fruits it brought! Admire this sincerity - how quickly it turned into impudence, and sensitivity - how it came in handy for cooing with coquettes, how vividly it responds to the charms of some Phryne *. Admire this fiery spirit: for some six years, he completely burned out all the oil of life in him, and Karl, not yet parted with the flesh, roams the earth like a ghost, and the shameless, staring at him, say: "C" est l " amour qui a fait ca!" (It is love that has wrought him! (fr.)) Yes, look at this bold, enterprising mind, how he contrives and carries out plans before which the heroic deeds of all Cartouches and Howards fade. And what else will be when the magnificent sprouts reach full maturity! And is it possible to expect perfection at such a tender age? And perhaps, father, you will still live to see him at the head of the army, who lodges in the sacred silence of dense forests and half eases the weight of his burden for the weary traveler! Perhaps you will have the chance, before descending into the grave, to make a pilgrimage to the monument that he will erect for himself between heaven and earth!* Perhaps ... O father, father, father! Look for another name for yourself, or all the boys and merchants who saw your son's portrait in the Leipzig market * will point their fingers at you.

Do you want me to curse my son? - (Count von Moore)

No no! You don't have to curse your son! Who do you call your son? The one to whom you gave life and who is doing everything to shorten yours? - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, about brother Karl)

I have every right to be dissatisfied with nature, and I swear on my honor that I will use them. Why didn't I come out of my mother's womb first? Why not the only one? Why did nature put this burden of ugliness on me? Just for me? Like she went bankrupt before I was born. Why exactly did I get this Lapland nose? This mouth is like a black man? Those Hottentot eyes? In fact, it seems to me that she took the most vile of all human races, mixed them into a pile and baked me from such a dough. Hell and death! Who gave her the right to give him everything by taking everything from me? Can anyone appease her before she was born, or hurt her before she sees the light? Why was she so prejudiced about the matter? No no! I am unfair to her. Having landed us, naked and miserable, on the shores of this boundless ocean - life, she gave us an inventive mind. Swim, who can swim, and awkward - sink! She did nothing for me on the road. Everything that I become will be the work of my hands. Everyone has the same rights to big and small. Claim breaks against claim, striving against striving, power against power. Law is on the side of the winner, and the law for us is only the limits of our strength. - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)

There are, of course, some generally accepted concepts invented by people to keep the pulse of the world order. An honest name is, indeed, a valuable coin: you can profit well by skillfully putting it into circulation. Conscience - oh, this is an excellent scarecrow to drive away sparrows from cherry trees, or, rather, a cleverly drawn up bill that will extricate you from trouble and bankruptcy. What can I say, very commendable notions! They keep the fools in reshpekt, the mob under the heel, and they untie the hands of the wise men. Jokes aside, funny concepts! - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)

The one who is not afraid of anything is no less powerful than the one whom everyone is afraid of. Now buckles on pantaloons are in fashion, allowing, at will, either to tighten or to dissolve them. We order our conscience to be sewn into a new style, in order to stretch it wider when we get it right! Our business side! Ask a tailor! - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)

I've been lied to so much about so-called blood love that any honest fool would have his head spinning. "It's your brother!" Let's translate it into the language of reason: it was taken out of the same furnace from which you were also taken out, and therefore it is ... sacred to you. Think about this wisest syllogism, this ridiculous conclusion: from the neighborhood of bodies to the harmony of souls, from a common place of birth to a community of feelings, from the same food to the same inclinations. And further: "This is your father! He gave you life, you are his flesh and blood, and therefore he is ... sacred to you." Another clever syllogism! But the question is, why did he bring me into the world? After all, not out of love for me, when I still had to become myself. Did he know me before he made me? Or did he want to make me what I became? Or, wanting to create just me, did he know what would come of me? I hope not: otherwise I would have to punish him for having brought me into the world after all. Shall I thank him for being born a man? As pointless as complaining if I were a woman! Can I recognize love that is not based on respect for my "I"? And how could there be respect for my "I" here, when this "I" itself arose from what should have served as a prerequisite? Where is the sacred here? Is it not in the very act by which I came into being? But he was nothing more than a bestial satisfaction of bestial instincts. Or perhaps the result of this act is sacred? But we would gladly get rid of it, if it did not threaten the danger of our flesh and blood. Or should I praise my father for loving me? But this is only vanity, the original sin of all artists who boast of their work, even if it is ugly. Here is all the sorcery that you have so firmly enveloped in the sacred fog in order to use our cowardice for evil. Is it really possible for me, as a child, to walk on these harnesses? - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)

Oh, how disgusting this age of mediocre scribblers becomes to me when I read in my dear Plutarch about the great men of antiquity. The sparkling spark of Prometheus went out. "She was replaced by a powdered powder - a theatrical fire, from which you can’t even smoke a pipe. The French abbot claims that Alexander was a pitiful coward; a consumptive professor, who at every word brings a bottle of ammonia to his nose, lectures on strength; thugs who, having once cheated ready to faint with fear, criticize Hannibal's tactics, yellow-mouthed boys fish out phrases about the Battle of Cannae and whimper, translating texts telling about the victories of Scipio. and schoolchildren grudgingly carry your immortality in knapsacks! A good reward for generously spilled blood is to go for a penny gingerbread wrapper in a Nuremberg merchant's shop, or, in case of special luck, fall into the hands of a French playwright who will put you on stilts and begin to pull the strings! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

Damn it, this frail age of castrati, capable only of chewing on the exploits of bygone times, vilifying the heroes of antiquity in the comments or twisting them in tragedies. The strength in his loins has dried up, and people are now being bred with the help of brewer's yeast! They cripple their healthy nature with vulgar conventions, they are afraid to drain a glass of wine: what if you drink for the wrong thing, they flatter before the last lackey so that he puts in a word for them from his lordship, and poison the poor man, because he is not terrible to them; they praise each other to the skies for a successful dinner and are ready to poison each other because of the bedding that was intercepted from them at the auction. They curse the Sadducee (Sadducees - a religious and political sect in Ancient Judea) for visiting the temple industriously, while they themselves calculate their usurious interest at the altar; they bend their knees to loosen their cloaks more pompously, and keep their eyes on the preacher, looking for how his wig is curled; they swoon when they see a goose being slaughtered and applaud when their competitor goes bankrupt on the stock exchange. - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

Is it for me to squeeze my body with lacing, and lace up my will with laws? The law makes him crawl like a snail and he who could fly like an eagle! The law has not created a single great man, only freedom gives rise to giants and high impulses. - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

Freedom must also have a master. Rome and Sparta perished without a head. - (Roller, robber)

People! People! False, treacherous echidnas! Their tears are water! Their hearts are iron! A kiss on the lips - and a dagger in the heart! Lions and leopards feed their cubs, ravens carry carrion to their chicks, and he, he ... I learned to endure black malice. I can smile as I watch my sworn enemy raise a glass filled with the blood of my heart ... But if blood love betrays me, if the love of a father turns into a vixen - oh, then kindle with flame, forbearance of a husband, turn into a tiger, meek lamb, each vein is filled with malice and death! [...] I loved him so unspeakably! No son has ever loved his father so much! I would give a thousand lives for him! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

People shielded humanity from me when I called out to humanity. Away from me compassion and human mercy! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

I thought he had two. - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)

Yes, he deserves sons like you. On his deathbed, he will vainly stretch out his withered hands to his Karl and draw them back in horror, touching the icy hand of Franz. Oh, how sweet, how infinitely sweet to be cursed by your father! - (Amalie to Franz)

(1759 - 1805) - an outstanding German poet and playwright, one of the largest representatives of romanticism in European literature of the 18th-19th centuries. In his works he defended the freedom and dignity of the human person. For more than two centuries, his plays have not left the stages of theaters around the world.

Schiller's most famous dramas were Intrigue and Love, Robbers, Mary Stuart and the Wallenstein trilogy.

We have selected 10 quotes from his works:

Not flesh and blood - the heart makes us fathers and children. "Robbers"
The law has not created a single great man, only freedom gives rise to giants and high impulses. "Robbers"
Forces grow with need ... That's why I never get scared when it comes to the extreme. Courage grows with danger: the harder it is, the more strength. "Robbers"
Violence hardens dreamers, but does not correct them. "Deceit and love"
For me, there is no hope for the dead. "Don Carlos"
All these earthly rulers of yours, like the swords of cherubs, are protected ... protected from the truth by their vices ... "Cunning and love"
The one who is not afraid of anything is no less powerful than the one whom everyone is afraid of. "Robbers"
When we, admiring the picture, forget about the artist, then for him this is the best praise. "

* Carnegie D. * Castaneda K. * Kipling R. * London D. * Milne A. * Mitchell M. * Molière * Maupassant G. - new author* Maugham S. * Moorcock M. * Orwell D. * Petrarch F. * Puzo M. * Riplay A. * Rodin O. * Rostand E. - new author* Saint-Exupery A. * Twain M. * Wells G. * Ford G. * Hemingway E. * Zweig S. * Churchill W. * Shakespeare V. * Schiller F. * Shaw B. * Erasmus of Rotterdam * Iacocca L.

Schiller Johann Christoph Friedrich (1759 - 1805)
Quotes- sheet 1 ()
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Quotes from Friedrich Schiller's tragedy The Robbers, 1781
Translation from German: Natalia Man

Do you want me to curse my son? - (Count von Moor)
- No no! You don't have to curse your son! Who do you call your son? The one to whom you gave life and who is doing everything to shorten yours? - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, about brother Karl)

I have every right to be dissatisfied with nature, and I swear on my honor that I will use them. Why wasn't I the first to emerge from my mother's womb?* Why not the only one? Why did nature put this burden of ugliness on me? Just for me? Like she went bankrupt before I was born. Why exactly did I get this Lapland nose? This mouth is like a black man? Those Hottentot eyes? In fact, it seems to me that she took the most vile of all human races, mixed them into a pile and baked me from such a dough. Hell and death! Who gave her the right to give him everything by taking everything from me? Can anyone appease her before she was born, or hurt her before she sees the light? Why was she so prejudiced about the matter? No no! I am unfair to her. Having landed us, naked and miserable, on the shores of this boundless ocean - life, she gave us an inventive mind. Swim, who can swim, and awkward - sink! She did nothing for me on the road. Everything that I become will be the work of my hands. Everyone has the same rights to big and small. Claim breaks against claim, striving against striving, power against power. Law is on the side of the winner, and the law for us is only the limits of our strength. -

Damn it, this frail age of castrati, capable only of chewing on the exploits of bygone times, vilifying the heroes of antiquity in the comments or twisting them in tragedies. The strength in his loins has dried up, and people are now being bred with the help of brewer's yeast! They cripple their healthy nature with vulgar conventions, they are afraid to drain a glass of wine: what if you drink for the wrong thing, they flatter before the last lackey so that he puts in a word for them from his lordship, and poison the poor man, because he is not terrible to them; they praise each other to the skies for a successful dinner and are ready to poison each other because of the bedding that was intercepted from them at the auction. They curse the Sadducee (Sadducees - a religious and political sect in Ancient Judea) for the fact that he visits the temple unzealously, while they themselves calculate their usurious interest at the altar; they bend their knees to loosen their cloaks more pompously, and keep their eyes on the preacher, looking for how his wig is curled; they swoon when they see a goose being slaughtered and applaud when their competitor goes bankrupt on the stock exchange. - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

Freedom must also have a master. Rome and Sparta perished without a head. - (Roller, robber)

People shielded humanity from me when I called out to humanity. Away from me compassion and human mercy! - (Karl, son of Count von Moor, brother of Franz)

Away! Oh, this child-loving, merciful father, who gave his son to be eaten by wolves and monsters! Sitting at home, he delights himself with expensive wines and rests his decrepit body on feather pillows, while his great, beautiful son is in the grip of need! Be ashamed, you monsters! Be ashamed, dragon hearts! You are a disgrace to mankind! His only son... (Amalie to Count von Moor)
- I thought he had two of them. - (Franz, son of Count von Moor, brother of Karl)
Yes, he deserves sons like you. On his deathbed, he will vainly stretch out his withered hands to his Karl and draw them back in horror, touching the icy hand of Franz. Oh, how sweet, how infinitely sweet to be cursed by your father! - (Amalie to Franz)

Portal for the student. Self-training

We have selected 10 quotes from his works:

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