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
All I really want is enough to live on, a little house in the country... and a tree in the garden with seven of my enemies hanging in it.
As the stars are the glory of the sky, so great men are the glory of their country, yea, of the whole earth. The hearts of great men are the stars of earth; and doubtless when one looks down from above upon our planet, these hearts are seen to send forth, a silvery light just like the stars of heaven.
The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
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
We should forgive our enemies, but only after they have been hanged first.
Whether a revolutions succeeds or fails people of great hearts will always be sacrificed to it.
Wherever they burn books they will also end up burning people.
If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found the time to conquer the world
One should forgive one's enemies, but not before they are hanged
Of course God will forgive me; that's His job.
The Wedding March always reminds me of the music played when soldiers go into battle.
Oh, they loved dearly:their souls kissed,they kissed with their eyes,they were both but one single kiss.
Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.
Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on.