They are the very children of impulse.

We are cold and self-contained, compared to the Germans.

They hug and kiss and cry and shout and dance and sing; and where we use one loving, petting expression, they pour out a score.
Their language is full of endearing diminutives; nothing that they love escapes the application of a petting diminutive--neither the house, nor the dog, nor the horse, nor the grandmother, nor any other creature, animate or inanimate.
In the theaters at Hanover, Hamburg, and Mannheim, they had a wise custom.

The moment the curtain went up, the light in the body of the house went down.

The audience sat in the cool gloom of a deep twilight, which greatly enhanced the glowing splendors of the stage.