"So stark ist der Zauber der Musik und, immer mächtiger werdend, musste er jede Fessel einer andern Kunst zerreißen." (<i>Beethovens Instrumentalmus… - E. T. A. Hoffmann
"So stark ist der Zauber der Musik und, immer mächtiger werdend, musste er jede Fessel einer andern Kunst zerreißen."
(Beethovens Instrumentalmusik)
German
Collect this quote
About E. T. A. Hoffmann
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann (24 January 1776 – 25 June 1822), better known by his pen name E. T. A. Hoffmann, was a German Romantic author of fantasy and horror, a jurist, composer, music critic, draftsman and caricaturist. He is the subject and hero of Jacques Offenbach's opera The Tales of Hoffmann, a fictionalized account.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Native Name:
Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann
Alternative Names:
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm. Hoffman
•
Ernst Theodor Amedeus Hoffmann
•
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffman
•
E.T.A. Hoffmann
•
Ernst Theodor Hoffmann
•
Amadeus Hoffman
•
Amadeus Hoffmann
•
E. T. Hoffmann
•
ernst theodor amadeus hoffmann
•
e. th. a. hoffmann
•
Ernst Theodore Wilhelm Hoffmann
•
Ernst T. A. Hoffmann
•
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann
Related quotes. More quotes will automatically load as you scroll down, or you can use the load more buttons.
Additional quotes by E. T. A. Hoffmann
He was wearing a purple cloak over his shoulders in a strange, foreign fashion, his arms folded inside it. His face was deathly pale, but as his great black eyes stared at me, a dagger seemed to pierce my heart. A feeling of horror ran through me, and quickly turning my face away, I summoned all my strength and continued speaking. But as though compelled by some magic force, I could not help looking over towards him again and again. He still stood there, impassive and motionless, his ghostly eyes fixed upon me. Something resembling bitter scorn and hatred lay on his high, furrowed brow and his drawn lips. The whole figure had a horrible, frightening air about it. It was... it was the mysterious painter from the Holy Linden.
Cruel, icy fingers clutched at my heart. A fearful sweat on my forehead; my phrases stuck in my throat, and my speech became more and more incoherent. But the terrible stranger still leant silently against the pillar, his glassy eyes set unwaveringly on me.
Why should not a writer be permitted to make use of the levers of fear, terror and horror because some feeble soul here and there finds it more than it can bear? Shall there be no strong meat at table because there happen to be some guests there whose stomachs are weak, or who have spoiled their own digestions?
Loading...