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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.
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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Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Flow
Ocean
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Lying
Pearl
Beautiful
Pearls
Many
Depths
Heart
Storm
Depth
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Where words leave off, music begins.
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God will pardon me. It is His trade.
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Laughter is wholesome. God is not so dull as some people make out. Did not He make the kitten to chase its tail.
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We know only that our entire existence is forced into new paths and disrupted, that new circumstances, new joys and new sorrows await us, and that the unknown has its uncanny attractions, alluring and at the same time anguishing.
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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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Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
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Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.
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I do not know the meaning of my sadness there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.
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If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
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He is noble who both feels and acts nobly.
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I do not know if she was virtuous, but she was ugly, and with a woman that is half the battle.
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Perfumes are the feelings of flowers, and as the human heart, imagining itself alone and unwatched, feels most deeply in the night-time, so seems it as if the flowers, in musing modesty, await the mantling eventide ere they give themselves up wholly to feeling...
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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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There is no Sixth Commandment in art. The poet is entitled to lay his hands on whatever material he finds necessary for his work.
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On the waves of the brook she dances by, The light, the lovely dragon-fly She dances here, she dances there, The shimmering, glimmering flutterer fair. And many a foolish young beetle's impressed By the blue gauze gown in which she is dressed They admire the enamel that decks her bright, And her elegant waist so slim and slight.
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Christ rode on an ass, but now asses ride on Christ.
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Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle. For it stands halfway between thought and phenomenon, between spirit and matter.
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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.
Heinrich Heine
