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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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Writer
Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Loved
Eyes
Dearly
Eye
Kissed
Soul
Teenage
Kiss
Souls
Kissing
Single
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Twelve Dancings are dancing, and taking no rest, And closely their hands together are press'd And soon as a dance has come to a close, Another begins, and each merrily goes.
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In action, the English have the advantage enjoyed by free men always entitled to free discussion: of having a ready judgment on every question. We Germans, on the other hand, are always thinking. We think so much that we never form a judgment.
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The negro king desired to be portrayed as white. But do not laugh at the poor African for every man is but another negro king, and would like to appear in a color different from that with which Fate has bedaubed him.
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Be entirely tolerant or not at all follow the good path or the evil one. To stand at the crossroads requires more strength than you possess.
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Freedom is a new religion, the religion of our time.
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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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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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He is noble who both feels and acts nobly.
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He only profits from praise who values criticism.
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What lies lurk in kisses.
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The arrow belongs not to the archer when it has once left the bow the word no longer belongs to the speaker when it has once passed his lips, especially when it has been multiplied by the press.
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Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.
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Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
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Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.
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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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Newness hath an evanescent beauty.
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Money is the god of our time, and Rothschild is his prophet.
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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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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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Where books are burned in the end people will be burned too.
Heinrich Heine