More from Paracelsus
- Autumn wins you best by this its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
- Error has no end.
- I give the fight up: let there be an end, A privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
- Truth is within ourselves.
- Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?
- A minute’s success pays the failure of years.
Last reviewed 2026-07-08