The Portuguese, Dutch and English have been for a long time year after year, shipping home the treasures of India in their… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Jews who long have drifted from the faith of their fathers... are stirred in their inmost parts when the old, familiar Passover… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
The butterfly long loved the beautiful rose, And flirted around all day; While round him in turn with her golden caress, Soft… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
I wept in my dreams. I dreamed you lay in the grave; I awoke, and the tears still poured down my cheeks.… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
The devil take these people and their language! They take a dozen monosyllabic words in their jaws, chew them, crunch them and… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Great genius takes shape by contact with another great genius, but, less by assimilation than by friction. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
The beauteous dragonfly's dancing By the waves of the rivulet glancing; She dances here and she dances there, The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. Full… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
I am no longer a divine biped. I am no longer the freest German after Goethe, as Ruge named me in healthier days. I… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
First, I thought, almost despairing, This must crush my spirit now; Yet I bore it, and am bearing- Only do not ask me how. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Nothing is more futile than theorizing about music. No doubt there are laws, mathematically strict laws, but these laws are not music; they are… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
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. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
“Still is the night, it quiets the streets down, In that window my love would appear; She's long since gone away from this town,… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
