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It must require an inordinate share of vanity and presumption, too, after enjoying so much that is good and beautiful on earth, to ask the Lord for immortality in addition to it all.

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
Lord
Presumption
Enjoy
Addition
Beautiful
Enjoying
Earth
Immortality
Must
Require
Much
Vanity
Good
Share
Inordinate
Asks
Impermanence

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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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Reason exercises merely the function of preserving order, is, so to say, the police in the region of art. In life it is mostly a cold arithmetician summing up our follies.
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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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The cloudlets are lazily sailing O'er the blue Atlantic sea And mid the twilight there hovers A shadowy figure o'er me.
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Don't send a poet to London.
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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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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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Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle.
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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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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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God will forgive me. It's his job.
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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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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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Every age thinks its battle the most important of all.
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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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If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found time to conquer the world.
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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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Reform Judaism is like mock turtle soup-turtle soup without the turtle
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Christianity is an idea, and as such is indestructible and immortal, like every idea.
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No talent, but yet a character. [Ger., Kein talent, doch ein Charakter.]
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