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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.
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
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Writer
Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Press
Arrow
Lips
Speaker
Especially
Arrows
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Speakers
Left
Belongs
Passed
Archer
Presses
Multiplied
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He only profits from praise who values criticism.
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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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There is only one writer in whom I find something that reminds me of the directness of style which is found in the Bible. It is Shakespeare.
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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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When'er into thine eyes I see, All pain and sorrow fly from me. [Ger., Wenn ich in deine Augen sch' So schwindet all' mein Leid und Weh.]
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So we keep asking, over and over,Until a handful of earthStops our mouths -But is that an answer?
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I have never seen an ass who talked like a human being, but I have met many human beings who talked like asses.
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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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If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
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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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Newness hath an evanescent beauty.
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Where words leave off, music begins.
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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.
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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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The violets prattle and titter, And gaze on the stars high above.
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The eyes of spring, so azure, Are peeping from the ground They are the darling violets, That I in nosegays bound.
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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 beauteous dragonfly's dancing By the waves of the rivulet glancing She dances here and she dances there, The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. Full many a beetle with loud applause Admires her dress of azure gauze, Admires her body's bright splendour, And also her figure so slender...
Heinrich Heine
