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Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.

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
Better
Good
Never
Sooth
Sleep
Born
Death
Best

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God has given us speech in order that we may say pleasant things to our friends, and tell bitter truths to our enemies.
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God will pardon: That's His business.
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Where books are burned in the end people will be burned too.
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Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt transitions.
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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 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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What lies lurk in kisses.
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Reform Judaism is like mock turtle soup-turtle soup without the turtle
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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.
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It is a common phenomenon that just the prettiest girls find it so difficult to get a man.
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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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We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged
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The stones here speak to me, and I know their mute language. Also, they seem deeply to feel what I think. So a broken column of the old Roman times, an old tower of Lombardy, a weather- beaten Gothic piece of a pillar understands me well. But I am a ruin myself, wandering among ruins.
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The same fact that Boccaccio offers in support of religion might be adduced in behalf of a republic: It exists in spite of its ministers.
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But a day must come when the fire of youth will be quenched in my veins, when winter will dwell in my heart, when his snow flakes will whiten my locks, and his mists will dim my eyes. Then my friends will lie in their lonely grave, and I alone will remain like a solitary stalk forgotten by the reaper.
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All our contemporary philosophers perhaps without knowing it are looking through eyeglasses that Baruch Spinoza polished. Spinoza was a philosopher who earned his livelihood by grinding lenses.
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Matrimony the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
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I consider it a degradation and a stain on my honor to submit to baptism in order to qualify myself for state employment in Prussia.
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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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