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I Live! Red Life Boils In My Veins, Earth Yields Beneath My Feet, In The Glow Of Love I Embrace Trees And Statues, And They Live In My Embrace. Every Woman Is To Me The Gift Of A World. I Revel In The Melody Of Her Countenance, And With A Single Glance Of My Eye I Can Enjoy More Than Others With Their Every Limb Through All Their Lives.

-Heinrich Heine

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I Live! Red Life

Heinrich Heine

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I Live! Red Life Boils In My Veins, Earth Yields Beneath My Feet, In The Glow Of Love I Embrace Trees And Statues, And They Live In My Embrace. Every Woman Is To Me The Gift Of A World. I Revel In The Melody Of Her Countenance, And With A Single Glance Of My Eye I Can Enjoy More Than Others With Their Every Limb Through All Their Lives.

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All Special Charters Of Freedom Must Be Abrogated Where The Universal Law Of Freedom Is To Flourish.

If Thou Lookest On The Lime-leaf, Thou A Heart's Form Will Discover; Therefore Are The Lindens Ever Chosen Seats Of Each Fond Lover.

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

My Heart Resembles The Ocean; Has Storm, And Ebb And Flow; And Many A Beautiful Pearl Lies Hid In Its Depths Below.

I Do Not Know If She Was Virtuous, But She Was Ugly, And With A Woman That Is Half The Battle.

Oh Fair, Oh Sweet And Holy As Dew At Morning Tide, I Gaze On Thee, And Yearnings, Sad In My Bosom Hide.

The Great Pulsation Of Nature Beats Too In My Breast, And When I Carol Aloud, I Am Answered By A Thousand-fold Echo. I Hear A Thousand Nightingales. Spring Hath Sent Them To Awaken Earth From Her Morning Slumber, And Earth Trembles With Ecstasy, Her Flowers Are Hymns, Which She Sings In Inspiration To The Sun.

The Negro King Desired To Be Portrayed As White. But Do Not Laugh At The Poor African; For Every Man Is But Another Negro King, And Would Like To Appear In A Color Different From That With Which Fate Has Bedaubed Him.

At First I Was Almost About To Despair, I Thought I Never Could Bear It — But I Did I Bear It. The Question Remains: How?

Tell Me Who First Did Kisses Suggest? It Was A Mouth All Glowing And Blest; It Kissed And It Thought Of Nothing Beside. The Fair Month Of May Was Then In Its Pride, The Flowers Were All From The Earth Fast Springing, The Sun Was Laughing, The Birds Were Singing.

If One Has No Heart, One Cannot Write For The Masses.

The Propaganda Of Communism Possesses A Language Which Every People Can Understand. Its Elements Are Simply Hunger, Envy, Death.

You Should Only Attempt To Borrow From Those Who Have But Few Of This World's Goods, As Their Chests Are Not Of Iron, And They Are, Besides, Anxious To Appear Wealthier Than They Really Are.

Nothing Is Sillier Than This Charge Of Plagiarism. There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Dare Help Himself Wherever He Lists, Wherever He Finds Material Suited To His Work. He May Even Appropriate Entire Columns With Their Carved Capitals, If The Temple He Thus Supports Be A Beautiful One. Goethe Understood This Very Well, And So Did Shakespeare Before Him.

It Is A Common Phenomenon That Just The Prettiest Girls Find It So Difficult To Get A Man.

The Devil Take These People And Their Language! They Take A Dozen Monosyllabic Words In Their Jaws, Chew Them, Crunch Them And Spit Them Out Again, And Call That Speaking. Fortunately They Are By Nature Fairly Silent, And Although They Gaze At Us Open-mouthed, They Spare Us Long Conversations.

Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

I Will Not Say That Women Have No Character; Rather, They Have A New One Every Day.

Whenever Books Are Burned, Men Also In The End Are Burned.

Whether A Revolution Succeeds Or Fails People Of Great Hearts Will Always Be Sacrificed To It.

And The Dancing Has Begun Now, And The Dancings Whirl Round Gaily In The Waltz's Giddy Mazes, And The Ground Beneath Them Trembles.

Music Played At Weddings Always Reminds Me Of The Music Played For Soldiers Before They Go Into Battle.

The Nightingale Appear'd The First, And As Her Melody She Sang, The Apple Into Blossom Burst, To Life The Grass And Violets Sprang.

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.

Wherever They Burn Books They Will Also, In The End, Burn Human Beings.

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 Many A Beetle With Loud Applause Admires Her Dress Of Azure Gauze, Admires Her Body's Bright Splendour, And Also Her Figure So Slender...

The Fundamental Evil Of The World Arose From The Fact That The Good Lord Has Not Created Money Enough.

Everywhere That A Great Soul Gives Utterance To Its Thoughts, There Also Is A Golgotha.

Perhaps Already I Am Dead, And These Perhaps Are Phantoms Vain; - These Motley Phantasies That Pass At Night Through My Disordered Brain. Perhaps With Ancient Heathen Shapes, Old Faded Gods, This Brain Is Full; Who, For Their Most Unholy Rites, Have Chosen A Dead Poet's Skull.

In Politics, As In Life, We Must Above All Things Wish Only For The Attainable.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

Don't Send A Poet To London.

High In The Air Rises The Forest Of Oaks, High Over The Oaks Soar The Eagle, High Over The Eagle Sweep The Clouds, High Over The Clouds Gleam The Stars... High Over The Stars Sweep The Angels.

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

Since The Exodus, Freedom Has Always Spoken With A Hebrew Accent.

In The Image Of The Lion Made He Kittens Small And Curious.

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.

I Call'd The Devil, And He Came, And With Wonder His Form Did I Closely Scan; He Is Not Ugly, And Is Not Lame, But Really A Handsome And Charming Man. A Man In The Prime Of Life Is The Devil, Obliging, A Man Of The World, And Civil; A Diplomatist Too, Well Skill'd In Debate, He Talks Quite Glibly Of Church And State.

The Bible Is The Great Family Chronicle Of The Jews.

Jews Who Long Have Drifted From The Faith Of Their Fathers... Are Stirred In Their Inmost Parts When The Old, Familiar Passover Sounds Chance To Fall Upon Their Ears.

Oh, They Loved Dearly: Their Souls Kissed, They Kissed With Their Eyes, They Were Both But One Single Kiss.

I Have A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Desires Are For A Modest Hut, A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, Very Fresh Milk And Butter, Flowers In Front Of My Window And A Few Pretty Trees By My Door. And Should The Good Lord Wish To Make Me Really Happy, He Will Allow Me The Pleasure Of Seeing About Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanged Upon Those Trees.

Terrible As Is War, It Yet Displays The Spiritual Grandeur Of Man Daring To Defy His Mightiest Hereditary Enemy--death.

In Dark Ages People Are Best Guided By Religion, As In A Pitch-black Night A Blind Man Is The Best Guide; He Knows The Roads And Paths Better Than A Man Who Can See. When Daylight Comes, However, It Is Foolish To Use Blind, Old Men As Guides.

Our Souls Must Become Expanded By The Contemplation Of Nature's Grandeur, Before We Can Fully Comprehend The Greatness Of Man.

Good Luck Is A Giddy Maid, Fickle And Restless As A Fawn; She Smooths Your Hair; And Then The Jade Kisses You Quickly, And Is Gone.

So We Keep Asking, Over And Over,until A Handful Of Earthstops Our Mouths -but Is That An Answer?

There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Is Entitled To Lay His Hands On Whatever Material He Finds Necessary For His Work.

Write . . . Write . . . Pencil . . . Paper.

The Artist Is The Child In The Popular Fable, Every One Of Whose Tears Was A Pearl.

I Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

When The Heroes Go Off The Stage, The Clowns Come On.

There Is Only One Writer In Whom I Find Something That Reminds Me Of The Directness Of Style Which Is Found In The Bible. It Is Shakespeare.

The Lotus Flower Is Troubled At The Sun's Resplendent Light; With Sunken Head And Sadly She Dreamily Waits For The Night.

A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

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Like A Great Poet, Nature Knows How To Produce The Greatest Effects With The Most Limited Means.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love.

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Money Is The God Of Our Time, And Rothschild Is His Prophet.

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Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

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True Eloquence Consists In Saying All That Is Necessary, And Nothing But What Is Necessary.

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

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Round My Cradle Shimmered The Last Moonbeams Of The Eighteenth Century And The First Morning Rays Of The Nineteenth.

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There, Where One Burns Books... One, In The End, Burns Men.

The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The Sun-lit Sky.

Christ Rode On An Ass, But Now Asses Ride On Christ.

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As The Moon's Fair Image Quaketh In The Raging Waves Of Ocean, Whilst She, In The Vault Of Heaven, Moves With Silent Peaceful Motion.

Sleep Is Good, Death Is Better; But Of Course, The Best Thing Would To Have Never Been Born At All.

Ich Glaube Sogar, Durch Leidensk A« Mpfe K O« Nnten Dietiere Zu Menschen Werden. I Believe That By Suffering Even Animals Could Be Made Human.

Woman Is At Once Apple And Serpent.

God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

Ordinarily He Was Insane, But He Had Lucid Moments When He Was Merely Stupid

The Deepest Truth Blooms Only From The Deepest Love.

The Same Fact That Boccaccio Offers In Support Of Religion Might Be Adduced In Behalf Of A Republic: "it Exists In Spite Of Its Ministers.

It Is Extremely Difficult For A Jew To Be Converted, For How Can He Bring Himself To Believe In The Divinity Of - Another Jew?

Matrimony; The High Sea For Which No Compass Has Yet Been Invented.

Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

Laughter Is Wholesome. God Is Not So Dull As Some People Make Out. Did Not He Make The Kitten To Chase Its Tail.

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!

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.

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.

And Over The Pond Are Sailing Two Swans All White As Snow; Sweet Voices Mysteriously Wailing Pierce Through Me As Onward They Go. They Sail Along, And A Ringing Sweet Melody Rises On High; And When The Swans Begin Singing, They Presently Must Die.

The Air Grows Cool And Darkles, The Rhine Flows Calmly On; The Mountain Summit Sparkles In The Light Of The Setting Sun.

I Take Pride In Never Being Rude To Anyone On This Earth, Which Contains A Great Number Of Unbearable Villains Who Set Upon You To Recount Their Sufferings And Even Recite Their Poems.

Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make Little Songs.

And Once Again We Plighted Our Troth, And Titter'd, Caress'd, Kiss'd So Dearly.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle. For It Stands Halfway Between Thought And Phenomenon, Between Spirit And Matter.

Never Let A Fool Kiss You, Or A Kiss Fool You. Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses!

Talking And Eloquence Are Not The Same: To Speak And To Speak Well Are Two Things. A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

No Compass Has Ever Been Invented For The High Seas Of Matrimony.

No Author Is A Man Of Genius To His Publisher.

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

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.

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 Men Of The Past Had Convictions, While We Moderns Have Only Opinions.

Life Is All Too Wondrous Sweet, And The World Is So Beautifully Bewildered; It Is The Dream Of An Intoxicated Divinity.

Glow-worms On The Ground Are Moving, As If In The Torch-dance Circling.

Our Sweetest Hopes Rise Blooming. And Then Again Are Gone, They Bloom And Fade Alternate, And So It Goes Rolling On. I Know It, And It Troubles My Life, My Love, My Rest, My Heart Is Wise And Witty, And It Bleeds Within My Breast.

We Should Forgive Our Enemies, But Not Before They Are Hanged

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle.

A Brainiac Notices Everything, An Ignoramus Comments About Everything.

I Do Not Know The Meaning Of My Sadness; There Is An Old Fairy Tale That I Cannot Get Out Of My Mind.

Where Books Are Burned In The End People Will Be Burned Too.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers, And As The Human Heart, Imagining Itself Alone And Unwatched, Feels Most Deeply In The Night-time, So Seems It As If The Flowers, In Musing Modesty, Await The Mantling Eventide Ere They Give Themselves Up Wholly To Feeling...

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.

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Inspirational Music

The Night Comes Stealing O'er Me, And Clouds Are On The Sea; While The Wavelets Rustle Before Me With A Mystical Melody.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love. Of Course, If The Spectator Be Without The Last, The Whole Will Present But A Pitiful Appearance, And In That Case, The Sun Is Merely So Many Miles In Diameter, The Trees Are Good For Fuel, The Flowers Are Classified By Stamens, And The Water Is Simply Wet.

From Every Englishman Emanates A Kind Of Gas, The Deadly Choke-damp Of Boredom.

God Will Forgive Me. It's His Job.

Lo, Sleep Is Good, Better Is Death--in Sooth The Best Of All Were Never To Be Born.

But A Day Must Come When The Fire Of Youth Will Be Quenched In My Veins, When Winter Will Dwell In My Heart, When His Snow Flakes Will Whiten My Locks, And His Mists Will Dim My Eyes. Then My Friends Will Lie In Their Lonely Grave, And I Alone Will Remain Like A Solitary Stalk Forgotten By The Reaper.

Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

In These Times We Fight For Ideas And Newspapers Are Our Fortress.

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.

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

Genius: 1. To Believe Your Own Thought. To Believe That What Is True For You Is Ultimately True. 2. A Sledgehammer. 3. The Fruit Of Labour And Thought. 4. Soul. 5. The Ability To Put Into Effect What Is In Your Mind. 6. Something One Can Become.

Reason Exercises Merely The Function Of Preserving Order, Is, So To Say, The Police In The Region Of Art. In Life It Is Mostly A Cold Arithmetician Summing Up Our Follies.

Freedom Is A New Religion, The Religion Of Our Time.

Be Entirely Tolerant Or Not At All; Follow The Good Path Or The Evil One. To Stand At The Crossroads Requires More Strength Than You Possess.

There Are More Fools In The World Than There Are People.

Sleep Is Lovely, Death Is Better Still, Not To Have Been Born Is Of Course The Miracle.

That Was Only The Beginning - Where One Burns Books, One Will Finally Also Burn People.

Mine Is A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Wishes Are: A Humble Cottage With A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, The Freshest Milk And Butter, Flowers Before My Window, And A Few Fine Trees Before My Door; And If God Wants To Make My Happiness Complete, He Will Grant Me The Joy Of Seeing Some Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanging From Those Trees. Before Death I Shall, Moved In My Heart, Forgive Them All The Wrong They Did Me In Their Lifetime. One Must, It Is True, Forgive One's Enemies-- But Not Before They Have Been Hanged.

The Violets Prattle And Titter, And Gaze On The Stars High Above.

Immortality—dazzling Idea! Who First Imagined Thee! Was It Some Jolly Burgher Of Nuremburg, Who With Night-cap On His Head, And White Clay Pipe In Mouth, Sat On Some Pleasant Summer Evening Before His Door, And Reflected In All His Comfort, That It Would Be Right Pleasant, If, With Unextinguishable Pipe, And Endless Breath, He Could Thus Vegetate Onwards For A Blessed Eternity? Or Was It A Lover, Who In The Arms Of His Loved One, Thought The Immortality-thought, And That Because He Could Think And Feel Naught Beside!—love! Immortality!

A Blaspheming Frenchman Is A Spectacle More Pleasing To The Lord Than A Praying Englishman.

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.

If The Romans Had Been Obliged To Learn Latin, They Would Never Have Found Time To Conquer The World.

Every Woman Is The Gift Of A World To Me.

He That Marries Is Like The Dogs Who Was Married To The Adriatic. He Knows Not What There Is In That Which He Marries; Mayhap Treasures And Pearls, Mayhap Monsters And Tempests, Await Him.

I Fell Asleep Reading A Dull Book And Dreamed I Kept On Reading, So I Awoke From Sheer Boredom.

Those Who Begin By Burning Books Will End By Burning People.

Wherever Books Are Burned, Human Beings Are Destined To Be Burned Too.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

The Fountain Of Love Is The Rose And The Lily, The Sun And The Dove.

Christianity Is An Idea, And As Such Is Indestructible And Immortal, Like Every Idea.

Phychical Pain Is More Easily Borne Than Physical; And If I Had My Choice Between A Bad Conscience And A Bad Tooth, I Should Choose The Former.

The Stones Here Speak To Me, And I Know Their Mute Language. Also, They Seem Deeply To Feel What I Think. So A Broken Column Of The Old Roman Times, An Old Tower Of Lombardy, A Weather- Beaten Gothic Piece Of A Pillar Understands Me Well. But I Am A Ruin Myself, Wandering Among Ruins.

He Only Profits From Praise Who Values Criticism.

The People Have No Ear, Either For Rhythm Or Music, And Their Unnatural Passion For Pianoforte Playing And Singing Is Thus All The More Repulsive. There Is Nothing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, Except English Painting.

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.

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

I Consider It A Degradation And A Stain On My Honor To Submit To Baptism In Order To Qualify Myself For State Employment In Prussia.

I Wept In My Dreams. I Dreamed You Lay In The Grave; I Awoke, And The Tears Still Poured Down My Cheeks. I Wept In My Dreams, I Dreamed You Had Left Me; I Awoke And I Went On Weeping Long And Bitterly. I Wept In My Dreams, I Dreamed You Were Still Kind To Me; I Awoke, And Still The Flow Of My Tears Streams On.

God Will Forgive Me. It's His Job." Heine Said This On His Deathbed (1856). Hilarious. He Must Have Thought That Up Years Before And Counted The Seconds To Use It.

Photography Is A Witness Against The Mistaken Opinion That Art Is An Imitation Of Nature.

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.

The Blossoms And Leaves In Plenty From The Apple Tree Fall Each Day; The Merry Breezes Approach Them, And With Them Merrily Play.

Graves They Say Are Warm'd By Glory; Foolish Words And Empty Story.

No Talent, But Yet A Character. [ger., Kein Talent, Doch Ein Charakter.]

The Eyes Of Spring, So Azure, Are Peeping From The Ground; They Are The Darling Violets, That I In Nosegays Bound.

Oh What Lies There Are In Kisses! And Their Guile So Well Prepared! Sweet The Snaring Is; But This Is Sweeter Still, To Be Ensnared.

I Bequeath All My Property To My Wife On The Condition That She Remarry Immediately. Then There Will Be At Least One Man To Regret My Death.

Reform Judaism Is Like Mock Turtle Soup-turtle Soup Without The Turtle

Thinking Of Germany In The Night Robs Me Of My Sleep.

Religion Cannot Sink Lower Than When Somehow It Is Raised To A State Religion ... It Becomes Then An Avowed Mistress.

Ask Me Not What I Have, But What I Am.

Every Period Of Time Is A Sphinx That Throws Itself Into The Abyss As Soon As Its Riddle Has Been Solved.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

Each Violet Peeps From Its Dwelling To Gaze At The Bright Stars Above.

Das War Ein Vorspeil Nur; That Was Only A Prelude; Dort Wo Man Buecher Verbrennt, Where One Burns Books, Vebrennt Man Auch Am Ende One Will Also Burn People Menchen. Eventually.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.

But Oh! The Latin!-madame, You Can Really Have No Idea Of What A Mess It Is. The Romans Would Never Have Found Time To Conquer The World If They Had Been Obliged First To Learn Latin. Lucky Dogs! They Already Knew In Their Cradles The Nouns Ending In Im. I On The Contrary Had To Learn It By Heart, In The Sweat Of My Brow.

You Talk Of Our Having An Idea; We Do Not Have An Idea. The Idea Has Us, And Martyrs Us, And Scourges Us, And Drives Us Into The Arena To Fight And Die For It, Whether We Want To Or Not.

He Is Noble Who Both Feels And Acts Nobly.

In Action, The English Have The Advantage Enjoyed By Free Men Always Entitled To Free Discussion: Of Having A Ready Judgment On Every Question. We Germans, On The Other Hand, Are Always Thinking. We Think So Much That We Never Form A Judgment.

The Cloudlets Are Lazily Sailing O'er The Blue Atlantic Sea; And Mid The Twilight There Hovers A Shadowy Figure O'er Me.

The Butterfly Long Loved The Beautiful Rose, And Flirted Around All Day; While Round Him In Turn With Her Golden Caress, Soft Fluttered The Sun's Warm Ray.... I Know Not With Whom The Rose Was In Love, But I Know That I Loved Them All. The Butterfly, Rose, And The Sun's Bright Ray, The Star And The Bird's Sweet Call.

There Is One Thing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, And That Is English Painting.

Life Is The Greatest Of Blessings And Death The Worst Of Evils.... All Great, Powerful Souls Love Life.

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

Nature, Like A True Poet, Abhors Abrupt Transitions.

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.

Nothing Is More Futile Than Theorizing About Music. No Doubt There Are Laws, Mathematically Strict Laws, But These Laws Are Not Music; They Are Only Its Conditions? The Essence Of Music Is Revelation.

Society Is A Republic. When An Individual Endeavors To Lift Himself Above His Fellows, He Is Dragged Down By The Mass, Either By Means Of Ridicule Or Of Calumny. No One Shall Be More Virtuous Or More Intellectually Gifted Than Others. Whoever, By The Irresistable Force Of Genius, Rises Above The Common Herd Is Certain To Be Ostracized By Society, Which Will Pursue Him With Such Merciless Derision And Detraction That At Last He Will Be Compelled To Retreat Into The Solitude Of His Thoughts.

Sweet May Hath Come To Love Us, Flowers, Trees, Their Blossoms Don; And Through The Blue Heavens Above Us The Very Clouds Move On.

The Swan In The Pool Is Singing, And Up And Down Doth He Steer, And, Singing Gently Ever, Dips Under The Water Clear.

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.

Human Misery Is Too Great For Men To Die Without Faith.

With His Nightcaps And The Tatters Of His Dressing-gown He Patches Up The Gaps In The Structure Of The Universe.

He Who Fights With Priests May Make Up His Mind To Have His Poor Good Name Torn And Befouled By The Most Infamous Lies And The Most Cutting Slanders.

You Cannot Feed The Hungry On Statistics.

Silence Can Be Defined As Conversation With An Englishman

I Have Never Seen An Ass Who Talked Like A Human Being, But I Have Met Many Human Beings Who Talked Like Asses.

Public Speaking

The Years Keep Coming And Going, Men Will Arise & Depart; Only One Thing Is Immortal: The Love That Is In My Heart.

I Care Little In The Existence Of A Heaven Or Hell; Self Respect Does Not Allow Me To Guide My Acts With An Eye Toward Heavenly Salvation Or Hellish Punishment. I Pursue The Good In Life Because It Is Beautiful And Attracts Me; And Shun The Bad Because It Is Ugly And Repulsive. All Our Acts Should Originate From The Spring Of Unselfish Love, Whether There Be A Continuation After Death Or Not.

Lyrical Poetry Is Much The Same An Every Age, As The Songs Of The Nightingales In Every Spring-time.

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