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Never let a fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you. Oh, what lies there are in kisses!

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
Fool
Lying
Never
Kisses
Kiss
Kissing
Lies

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If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
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As the stars are the glory of the sky, so great men are the glory of their country, yea, of the whole earth. The hearts of great men are the stars of earth and doubtless when one looks down from above upon our planet, these hearts are seen to send forth, a silvery light just like the stars of heaven.
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The deepest truth blooms only from the deepest love.
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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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God will pardon: That's His business.
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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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Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.
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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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It must require an inordinate share of vanity and presumption, too, after enjoying so much that is good and beautiful on earth, to ask the Lord for immortality in addition to it all.
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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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In politics, as in life, we must above all things wish only for the attainable.
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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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Life is all too wondrous sweet, and the world is so beautifully bewildered it is the dream of an intoxicated divinity.
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The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
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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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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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Those who begin by burning books will end by burning people.
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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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Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
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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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