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Oh, they loved dearly: their souls kissed, they kissed with their eyes, they were both but one single kiss.
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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Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Eyes
Dearly
Eye
Kissed
Soul
Teenage
Kiss
Souls
Kissing
Single
Loved
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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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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 nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang.
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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.
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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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Money is the god of our time, and Rothschild is his prophet.
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Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
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No talent, but yet a character. [Ger., Kein talent, doch ein Charakter.]
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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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The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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In the image of the lion made He kittens small and curious.
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Matrimony the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
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There are more fools in the world than there are people.
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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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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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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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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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