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Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
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
Torch
Torches
Glow
Worms
Ground
Dance
Moving
Circling
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found time to conquer the world.
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Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
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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 propaganda of communism possesses a language which every people can understand. Its elements are simply hunger, envy, death.
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There are more fools in the world than there are people.
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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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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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In action, the English have the advantage enjoyed by free men always entitled to free discussion: of having a ready judgment on every question. We Germans, on the other hand, are always thinking. We think so much that we never form a judgment.
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Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
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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.
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Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
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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.
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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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First, I thought, almost despairing, This must crush my spirit now Yet I bore it, and am bearing- Only do not ask me how.
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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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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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A brainiac notices everything, an ignoramus comments about everything.
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He only profits from praise who values criticism.
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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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The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
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