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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.
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
Tales
Sadness
Meaning
Cannot
Mind
Tale
Fairy
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The same fact that Boccaccio offers in support of religion might be adduced in behalf of a republic: It exists in spite of its ministers.
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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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He who fears to venture as far as his heart urges and his reason permits, is a coward he who ventures further than he intended to go, is a slave.
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We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged
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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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The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
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The men of the past had convictions, while we moderns have only opinions.
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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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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 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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Don't send a poet to London.
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Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on.
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Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
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Talking and eloquence are not the same: to speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
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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 negro king desired to be portrayed as white. But do not laugh at the poor African for every man is but another negro king, and would like to appear in a color different from that with which Fate has bedaubed him.
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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.
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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 books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
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Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
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