Heinrich Heine
Heinrich Heine
Christian Johann Heinrich Heinewas a German poet, journalist, essayist, and literary critic. He is best known outside Germany for his early lyric poetry, which was set to music in the form of Liederby composers such as Robert Schumann and Franz Schubert. Heine's later verse and prose are distinguished by their satirical wit and irony. He is considered part of the Young Germany movement. His radical political views led to many of his works being banned by German authorities. Heine spent...
NationalityGerman
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth13 December 1797
CountryGermany
Religion cannot sink lower than when somehow it is raised to a state religion ... It becomes then an avowed mistress.
I live, which is the main point.
I fell asleep reading a dull book and dreamed I kept on reading, so I awoke from sheer boredom.
He only profits from praise who values criticism.
Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
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...
True eloquence consists in saying all that is necessary, and nothing but what is necessary.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
Out of my own great woe I make my little songs.
Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.
Sleep is good, death is better; but of course, the best thing would to have never been born at all.
It must require an inordinate share of vanity and presumption, too, after enjoying so much that is good and beautiful on earth, to ask the Lord for immortality in addition to it all.
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.
Poverty sits by the cradle of all our great men and rocks all of them to manhood.