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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.

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
House
Littles
Live
Hanging
Little
Enemies
Country
Seven
Enough
Garden
Really
Tree
Enemy

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When'er into thine eyes I see, All pain and sorrow fly from me. [Ger., Wenn ich in deine Augen sch' So schwindet all' mein Leid und Weh.]
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You talk of our having an idea we do not have an idea. The idea has us, and martyrs us, and scourges us, and drives us into the arena to fight and die for it, whether we want to or not.
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If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found time to conquer the world.
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We know only that our entire existence is forced into new paths and disrupted, that new circumstances, new joys and new sorrows await us, and that the unknown has its uncanny attractions, alluring and at the same time anguishing.
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The Bible is the great family chronicle of the Jews.
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I call'd the devil, and he came, And with wonder his form did I closely scan He is not ugly, and is not lame, But really a handsome and charming man. A man in the prime of life is the devil, Obliging, a man of the world, and civil A diplomatist too, well skill'd in debate, He talks quite glibly of church and state.
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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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Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
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Freedom is a new religion, the religion of our time.
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God will pardon: That's His business.
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Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle.
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What lies lurk in kisses.
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The devil take these people and their language! They take a dozen monosyllabic words in their jaws, chew them, crunch them and spit them out again, and call that speaking. Fortunately they are by nature fairly silent, and although they gaze at us open-mouthed, they spare us long conversations.
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Like a great poet, Nature produces the greatest results with the simplest means. These are simply a sun, trees, flowers, water and love.
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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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And over the pond are sailing Two swans all white as snow Sweet voices mysteriously wailing Pierce through me as onward they go. They sail along, and a ringing Sweet melody rises on high And when the swans begin singing, They presently must die.
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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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Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward.
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Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on.
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It is an ancient story Yet is it ever new.
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