Heinrich Heine


German Poet, Satirist, Journalist and Literary Critic

Author Quotes

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, and breathe forth their sweetest odors. Flow forth, ye perfumes of my heart, and seek beyond these mountains the dear one of my dreams!

That those wild lands send forth?

The lotus flower is troubled at the sun's resplendent light; with sunken head and sadly she dreamily waits for the night.

The swan, like the soul of the poet, by the dull world is ill understood.

We spoke of coasts far distant?

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.

Phychical pain is more easily borne than physical; and if I had my choice between a bad conscience and a bad tooth, I should choose the former.

That was only a prelude; where one burns books, one will also burn people. Eventually.

The more I get to know people, the more I like dogs.

The violets prattle and titter, and gaze on the stars high above.

We spoke of south and north?

With his nightcaps and the tatters of his dressing-gown he patches up the gaps in the structure of the universe.

Poverty sits by the cradle of all our great men, and rocks them up to manhood; and this meager foster-mother remains their faithful companion throughout life

The air grows cool and darkles, the Rhine flows calmly on; the mountain summit sparkles in the light of the setting sun.

The music at a wedding procession always reminds me of the music of soldiers going into battle.

The weather cock on the church spire, though made of iron, would soon be broken by the storm wind if it did not understand the noble art of turning to every wind.

What Christian love cannot do is effected by a common hatred.

With the rose the butterfly's deep in love, A thousand times hovering round; But round himself, all tender like gold, The sun's sweet ray is hovering found.

Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.

The artist is the child in the popular fable, every one of whose tears was a pearl. Ah! the world, that cruel step-mother, beats the poor child the harder to make him shed more pearls.

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.

The Wedding March always reminds me of the music played when soldiers go into battle.

What lies lurk in kisses.

Woman is at once apple and serpent.

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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German Poet, Satirist, Journalist and Literary Critic