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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.

Heinrich Heine

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Heinrich Heine
Age: 58 †
Born: 1797
Born: December 13
Died: 1856
Died: February 17
Author
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Publicist
Writer
Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Also
Libertarian
Human
Wherever
Humans
Library
Censoring
Book
Beings
Librarian
Books
Literacy
Reading
Censorship
Evil
Burned
Ends
Burn

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Tell me who first did kisses suggest? It was a mouth all glowing and blest It kissed and it thought of nothing beside. The fair month of May was then in its pride, The flowers were all from the earth fast springing, The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
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Perhaps already I am dead, And these perhaps are phantoms vain - These motley phantasies that pass At night through my disordered brain. Perhaps with ancient heathen shapes, Old faded gods, this brain is full Who, for their most unholy rites, Have chosen a dead poet's skull.
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The butterfly long loved the beautiful rose, And flirted around all day While round him in turn with her golden caress, Soft fluttered the sun's warm ray.... I know not with whom the rose was in love, But I know that I loved them all. The butterfly, rose, and the sun's bright ray, The star and the bird's sweet call.
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A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.
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Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
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Reason exercises merely the function of preserving order, is, so to say, the police in the region of art. In life it is mostly a cold arithmetician summing up our follies.
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The deepest truth blooms only from the deepest love.
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There are more fools in the world than there are people.
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I do not know the meaning of my sadness there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.
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Life is all too wondrous sweet, and the world is so beautifully bewildered it is the dream of an intoxicated divinity.
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Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.
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The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
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The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood.
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On the waves of the brook she dances by, The light, the lovely dragon-fly She dances here, she dances there, The shimmering, glimmering flutterer fair. And many a foolish young beetle's impressed By the blue gauze gown in which she is dressed They admire the enamel that decks her bright, And her elegant waist so slim and slight.
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It is an ancient story Yet is it ever new.
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Oh, they loved dearly: their souls kissed, they kissed with their eyes, they were both but one single kiss.
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Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
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As the stars are the glory of the sky, so great men are the glory of their country, yea, of the whole earth. The hearts of great men are the stars of earth and doubtless when one looks down from above upon our planet, these hearts are seen to send forth, a silvery light just like the stars of heaven.
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Matrimony the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
Heinrich Heine