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He who fights with priests may make up his mind to have his poor good name torn and befouled by the most infamous lies and the most cutting slanders.
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
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Writer
Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
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Cutting
Slanders
Good
Name
Infamous
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Slander
Fighting
Fights
Lying
Torn
Poor
Priests
May
Atheism
Mind
Lies
More quotes by Heinrich Heine
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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No talent, but yet a character. [Ger., Kein talent, doch ein Charakter.]
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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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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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Christianity is an idea, and as such is indestructible and immortal, like every idea.
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We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged
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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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Reform Judaism is like mock turtle soup-turtle soup without the turtle
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Where words leave off, music begins.
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Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.
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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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Tell me who first did kisses suggest? It was a mouth all glowing and blest It kissed and it thought of nothing beside. The fair month of May was then in its pride, The flowers were all from the earth fast springing, The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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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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Thought precedes action as lighting does thunder.
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Whether a revolution succeeds or fails people of great hearts will always be sacrificed to it.
Heinrich Heine
Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.
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In the image of the lion made He kittens small and curious.
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