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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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
Life
Attainable
Politician
Politics
Wish
Must
Things
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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Christianity is an idea, and as such is indestructible and immortal, like every idea.
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You cannot feed the hungry on statistics.
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True eloquence consists in saying all that is necessary, and nothing but what is necessary.
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Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
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We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged
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Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.
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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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Genius: 1. to believe your own thought. To believe that what is true for you is ultimately true. 2. a sledgehammer. 3. the fruit of labour and thought. 4. soul. 5. the ability to put into effect what is in your mind. 6. something one can become.
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Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
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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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Where words leave off, music begins.
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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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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 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 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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Don't send a poet to London.
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It is an ancient story Yet is it ever new.
Heinrich Heine
Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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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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