A mans name is not like a mantle, which merely hangs about him, and which one perchance may safely twitch and pull, but a perfectly fitting garment, which like the skin has grown over and over him, at which one cannot rake and scrape without injuring the man himself.
Songs are like painted window-panes! In darkness wrapped the church remains, If from the market-place we view it; But let us now inside repair, And greet the holy chapel there! At once the whole seems clear and bright, Each ornament is bathed in light, And fraught with meaning to the sight.
Translations are like busy matchmakers: they sing the praises of some half-veiled beauty and extol her charms, and arouse an irresistible longing for the original.