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He that marries is like the dogs who was married to the Adriatic. He knows not what there is in that which he marries mayhap treasures and pearls, mayhap monsters and tempests, await him.
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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Out of my great sorrows, I make little songs.
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It is an ancient story Yet is it ever new.
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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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Thought is invisible nature.
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Jews who long have drifted from the faith of their fathers... are stirred in their inmost parts when the old, familiar Passover sounds chance to fall upon their ears.
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Be entirely tolerant or not at all follow the good path or the evil one. To stand at the crossroads requires more strength than you possess.
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My heart resembles the ocean has storm, and ebb and flow and many a beautiful pearl lies hid in its depths below.
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Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
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Matrimony the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
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Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of St. John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison.
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Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.
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But a day must come when the fire of youth will be quenched in my veins, when winter will dwell in my heart, when his snow flakes will whiten my locks, and his mists will dim my eyes. Then my friends will lie in their lonely grave, and I alone will remain like a solitary stalk forgotten by the reaper.
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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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God will pardon: That's His business.
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Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt transitions.
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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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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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Out of my own great woe I make my little songs.
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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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Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
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