Quotes from Heinrich Heine

Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.

Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.

I have smelt all the aromas there are in the fragrant kitchen they call Earth; and what we can enjoy in this life, I surely have enjoyed just like a lord!

Oh fair, oh sweet and holy as dew at morning tide, I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide.

And once again we plighted our troth, And titter'd, caress'd, kiss'd so dearly.

Like a great poet, Nature produces the greatest results with the simplest means. These are simply a sun, trees, flowers, water and love.

In earlier religions the spirit of the time was expressed through the individual and confirmed by miracles. In modern religions the spirit is expressed through the many and confirmed by reason.

In vain would I seek to discover Why sad and mournful am I, My thoughts without ceasing brood over A tale of the time gone by.

Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on.

In blissful dream, in silent night, There came to me, with magic might, With magic might, my own sweet love, Into my little room above.

The fountain of love is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.

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.

Twelve Dancings are dancing, and taking no rest, And closely their hands together are press'd; And soon as a dance has come to a close, Another begins, and each merrily goes.

The Blossoms and leaves in plenty From the apple tree fall each day; The merry breezes approach them, And with them merrily play.

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.

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.

The deepest truth blooms only from the deepest love.

What lies lurk in kisses.

Literary history is the great morgue where all seek the dead ones whom they love, or to whom they are related.

Life is the greatest of blessings and death the worst of evils.... all great, powerful souls love life.

One should forgive one's enemies, but not before they are hanged.

And yonder sits a maiden, The fairest of the fair, With gold in her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair.

People in those old times had convictions; we moderns only have opinions. And it needs more than a mere opinion to erect a Gothic cathedral.

He only profits from praise who values criticism.