A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height; It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
Immortality—dazzling idea! who first imagined thee! Was it some jolly burgher of Nuremburg, who with night-cap on his head, and white clay… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
She resembles the Venus de Milo: she is very old, has no teeth, and has white spots on her yellow skin. — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
The negro king desired to be portrayed as white. But do not laugh at the poor African; for every man is but… — Heinrich Heine Copy Share Image
And over the pond are sailing Two swans all white as snow; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing Pierce through me as onward they… — 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
