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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.

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
Divinity
Sweet
Dream
Life
World
Intoxicated
Bewildered
Wondrous
Beautifully

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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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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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Perhaps already I am dead, And these perhaps are phantoms vain - These motley phantasies that pass At night through my disordered brain. Perhaps with ancient heathen shapes, Old faded gods, this brain is full Who, for their most unholy rites, Have chosen a dead poet's skull.
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Never let a fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you. Oh, what lies there are in kisses!
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Perfumes are the feelings of flowers, and as the human heart, imagining itself alone and unwatched, feels most deeply in the night-time, so seems it as if the flowers, in musing modesty, await the mantling eventide ere they give themselves up wholly to feeling...
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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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God will pardon: That's His business.
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In vain would I seek to discover Why sad and mournful am I, My thoughts without ceasing brood over A tale of the time gone by.
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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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Poverty sits by the cradle of all our great men and rocks all of them to manhood.
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In the image of the lion made He kittens small and curious.
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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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Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.
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Where words leave off, music begins.
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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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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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I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.
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He who fights with priests may make up his mind to have his poor good name torn and befouled by the most infamous lies and the most cutting slanders.
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Like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest effects with the most limited means.
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He is noble who both feels and acts nobly.
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