Feuerbach's was one of these fundamental thoughts.
[1] Sound the trumpet, herald of war! To arms! To arms! War to the death with the wicked horde of stupid, hypocritical priests!
[2] Fifty years ago our parents declared war against the fat and flabby priest; we, their children and grandchildren, have, like them, taken up arms against the cloth; but our cry is: Death to the lean and lanky priestlings!
[3] 'Tis the lark, not the nightingale, that sings so clear; the great sun-ball is rising fast, borne by the winds of the morning. It is day! it is day! The night will end in blood. Awake, all ye who believe in the light eternal! Tear the rose-wreaths of love from your heads, and gird yourselves with swords of flame!
[4] 'Tis not the fault of the Kings—they are all lovers of freedom;
But their misfortune is this: Freedom has no love for them.
[5] His youthful writings are collected in Gedichte und kritische Aufsätze, 1845, 2 vols.
[6] Would you desecrate the temple for the sake of a woman, dance with her before golden idols, &c.
[7] Prosaic vulgar-mindedness cannot, will not, understand that thy name, a mind like thine, is a security for integrity of purpose; it is ready to believe only what is bad, &c.
[8] No longer, damned Liberty, shalt thou disturb my peace of mind. Lisette! another glass of beer! For the future I'm a respectable citizen.