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
Reform Judaism is like mock turtle soup-turtle soup without the turtle
A blaspheming Frenchman is a spectacle more pleasing to the Lord than a praying Englishman.
Since the Exodus, freedom has always spoken with a Hebrew accent.
The real madness probably is not another thing that the wisdom itself that, tired of discovering the shames of the world, has taken the intelligent resolution to become mad
I am no longer a divine biped. I am no longer the freest German after Goethe, as Ruge named me in healthier days. I am no longer the great hero No. 2, who was compared with the grape-crowned Dionysius, whilst my colleague No. 1 enjoyed the title of a Grand Ducal Weimarian Jupiter. I am no longer a joyous, somewhat corpulent Hellenist, laughing cheerfully down upon the melancholy Nazarenes. I am now a poor fatally-ill Jew, an emaciated picture of woe, an unhappy man.
Terrible as is war, it yet displays the spiritual grandeur of man daring to defy his mightiest hereditary enemy--death.
Thought is invisible nature.
Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
I do not know the meaning of my sadness; there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.
A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
All special charters of freedom must be abrogated where the universal law of freedom is to flourish.
The years keep coming and going, Men will arise & depart; Only one thing is immortal: The love that is in my heart.
At noon I feel as though I could devour all the elephants of Hindostan, and then pick my teeth with the spire of Strasburg cathedral; in the evening I become so sentimental that I would fain drink up the Milky Way without reflecting how indigestible I should find the little fixed stars, and by night there is the Devil himself broke loose in my head and no mistake.