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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
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Dusseldorf
Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Harry Heine
Kisses
Kiss
Kissing
Lies
Fool
Lying
Never
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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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Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid
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Whether a revolution succeeds or fails people of great hearts will always be sacrificed to it.
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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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Christ rode on an ass, but now asses ride on Christ.
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We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged
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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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Ask me not what I have, but what I am.
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Human misery is too great for men to die without faith.
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Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
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Freedom is a new religion, the religion of our time.
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Every age thinks its battle the most important of all.
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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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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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Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
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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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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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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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Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.
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What lies lurk in kisses.
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