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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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
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Writer
Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Inspirational
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Also
Book
Men
Censorship
Burned
Whenever
Books
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.
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Thought is invisible nature.
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Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle. For it stands halfway between thought and phenomenon, between spirit and matter.
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All I really want is enough to live on, a little house in the country... and a tree in the garden with seven of my enemies hanging in it.
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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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The foolish race of mankind are swarming below in the night they shriek and rage and quarrel - and all of them are right.
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You cannot feed the hungry on statistics.
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Experience is a good school. But the fees are high.
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The lotus flower is troubled At the sun's resplendent light With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night.
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The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood.
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Money is the god of our time, and Rothschild is his prophet.
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There, where one burns books... one, in the end, burns men.
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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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Our sweetest hopes rise blooming. And then again are gone, They bloom and fade alternate, And so it goes rolling on. I know it, and it troubles My life, my love, my rest, My heart is wise and witty, And it bleeds within my breast.
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In vain would I seek to discover Why sad and mournful am I, My thoughts without ceasing brood over A tale of the time gone by.
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He who fears to venture as far as his heart urges and his reason permits, is a coward he who ventures further than he intended to go, is a slave.
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The men of the past had convictions, while we moderns have only opinions.
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Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
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Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt transitions.
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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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