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There is no Sixth Commandment in art. The poet is entitled to lay his hands on whatever material he finds necessary for his work.
Heinrich Heine
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Heinrich Heine
Age: 58 †
Born: 1797
Born: December 13
Died: 1856
Died: February 17
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Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
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More quotes by Heinrich Heine
Newness hath an evanescent beauty.
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A brainiac notices everything, an ignoramus comments about everything.
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The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood.
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The foolish race of mankind are swarming below in the night they shriek and rage and quarrel - and all of them are right.
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The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
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Christianity is an idea, and as such is indestructible and immortal, like every idea.
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If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
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Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
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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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Oh fair, oh sweet and holy as dew at morning tide, I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide.
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There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.
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Our sweetest hopes rise blooming. And then again are gone, They bloom and fade alternate, And so it goes rolling on. I know it, and it troubles My life, my love, my rest, My heart is wise and witty, And it bleeds within my breast.
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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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You cannot feed the hungry on statistics.
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The Bible is the great family chronicle of the Jews.
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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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I fell asleep reading a dull book and dreamed I kept on reading, so I awoke from sheer boredom.
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There, where one burns books... one, in the end, burns men.
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On the waves of the brook she dances by, The light, the lovely dragon-fly She dances here, she dances there, The shimmering, glimmering flutterer fair. And many a foolish young beetle's impressed By the blue gauze gown in which she is dressed They admire the enamel that decks her bright, And her elegant waist so slim and slight.
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Oh, they loved dearly: their souls kissed, they kissed with their eyes, they were both but one single kiss.
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