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The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
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
Garden
Beguiling
Spring
Springtime
Flower
Gate
Already
Smiling
Care
Gates
Looks
Round
Country
Rounds
Straight
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
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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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Those who begin by burning books will end by burning people.
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Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
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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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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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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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Sleep is lovely, death is better still, not to have been born is of course the miracle.
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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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The air grows cool and darkles, The Rhine flows calmly on The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun.
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There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.
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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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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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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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Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.
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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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The stones here speak to me, and I know their mute language. Also, they seem deeply to feel what I think. So a broken column of the old Roman times, an old tower of Lombardy, a weather- beaten Gothic piece of a pillar understands me well. But I am a ruin myself, wandering among ruins.
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God will forgive me. It's his job.
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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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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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