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If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
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
Heart
Masses
Mass
Write
Cannot
Writing
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
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.
Heinrich Heine
The propaganda of communism possesses a language which every people can understand. Its elements are simply hunger, envy, death.
Heinrich Heine
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.
Heinrich Heine
I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.
Heinrich Heine
Oh fair, oh sweet and holy as dew at morning tide, I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide.
Heinrich Heine
I fell asleep reading a dull book and dreamed I kept on reading, so I awoke from sheer boredom.
Heinrich Heine
God has given us speech in order that we may say pleasant things to our friends, and tell bitter truths to our enemies.
Heinrich Heine
The cloudlets are lazily sailing O'er the blue Atlantic sea And mid the twilight there hovers A shadowy figure o'er me.
Heinrich Heine
Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
Heinrich Heine
If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found time to conquer the world.
Heinrich Heine
I do not know the meaning of my sadness there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.
Heinrich Heine
Matrimony the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
Heinrich Heine
The deepest truth blooms only from the deepest love.
Heinrich Heine
Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
Heinrich Heine
Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle.
Heinrich Heine
Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
Heinrich Heine
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.
Heinrich Heine
The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
Heinrich Heine
Those who begin by burning books will end by burning people.
Heinrich Heine
A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.
Heinrich Heine
